Not Without Your Love
by Juliet6866
Summary: Lady Blair is searching for love in London's glittering ballrooms.  There she meets the devilish Duke of Bass.  But he is definately not the kind of man she is looking for.  Can he convince her to give into passion? Can she convince him to give into love?
1. Chapter 1

Author's note: Hey all... I am certian that you all think I disappeared somewhere since I am have been silent for a long while. But, I have had an utter lack of inspiration and initiative. But, recently I have read some amazing novels and they have given me both of those essential elements back. So, I give you a new story...

This is drastically different than what I have written about C & B in the past. Primarily, it is a historical romance. I was always dead set against any fanfiction that strayed from the main cannon of the story, but I really couldn't help myself. I found awesome authors that brought the period and characters alive, like Julia Quinn, Stephanie Laurens, Nicole Jordan, Lisa Kleypas, & Julie Garwood. Through them I found new breath in my strangled imagination.

Please give this a shot... If you like it and want me to continue, please let me know. If you think that it isn't worth my time, let me know that too. Thanks so much for reading! xoxo

_

* * *

_

_14 January 1817_

_My Dearest Serena,_

_I received your missive just moments ago and I felt quite compelled to write you. I am most relieved that your journey was swift and comfortable. The weather is much the same here, though, the dreariness gives me an odd sense of rightness. Without your presence in London, the rain is fitting with my mood. I miss you terribly and wish that circumstances were not as they are and I could accompany you to Hamptonshire. After your departure, I confess that I sometimes feel abandoned. It is as though my father was here just yesterday, even if the calendar insists it has been nearly two and one half years. With my mother and Baron Rose off in Scotland until March, I am beginning to experience a impatient loneliness . I tell myself that such sentimentality is remiss of me and holds no purpose. But you, dear cousin, are the one that can appreciate my outlook. Losing so many men in your life, you can sympathize with the loss of my one. I know you do not vividly remember your father, nor did you love either of your two stepfathers as I love the Baron, yet the grief was present nonetheless. _

_Pay you no mind to my meanderings, your absence is of the utmost importance and I pray that Eric is on the mend. Did you ever get the story in its entirety? Was he truly thrown from his horse? I cannot bring myself to believe that such an accomplished horseman could be thrown so easily. He was taught by my father, just as I was. How could such a thing be possible? Give him my best wishes for a speedy recovery. Do not fret over him, God would not be so cruel to steal my beloved cousin along with both our fathers. Please send word of Eric's condition with all possible haste._

_I hope, quite selfishly, that you will return to me before the Season is to begin. I do not relish in the thought of facing the ton without you. The other young ladies of our acquaintance are barely tolerable and have little in the way of gumption or intelligence. That of course does not even include the matrons. Already some of the worst ladies have invited me for tea. I would be pleased to decline, but sometimes I know I have little choice in the matter. I should be accustom to not having any choices in my life, though. We young misses have little choice in anything. I pray I can hold my tongue in these calls. But, you know how very difficult I find the task. God keep you safe. _

_Your Cousin, Blair_

* * *

Three Weeks Later…

Lady Blair Waldorf, daughter of the late Earl of Waldorf and the current Baroness of Rose, sat on a stiff settee in the dowager Countess of Willoughby's green drawing room. The tea was tepid and bitter, much like the conversation.

"I do not comprehend your continued relation with the Van Der Woodsen side of your family." the dowager remarked unsubtly over the rim of her tea cup.

The countess was an old, frail thing with white hair and a beak nose. She had a glare that could only come from aristocratic origins. Since she was so highly respected in polite circles, Blair could not turn down such an invite no matter how repugnant the company. And repugnant it was. More than anything, Blair resented the strictures of propriety. She was a young and unmarried lady, those three facts gave her a fine line to tow. Her recent restlessness was only compounded in situations like her current one.

When the Countess did not get a response from Blair, she continued on, "Their family is mired in scandal, my dear. You are not so and it would greatly increase your chances for an excellent match if you would simply give them the cut direct."

She paused as if in deep thought, placing her cup on the saucer, then began anew, much to Blair's chagrin. "I dare say, your dowry will attract many a suitor regardless. But, think if you were untainted by even the barest whiff of scandal, just imagine what husband you could catch. A duke, perhaps." A superiorly benevolent smile passed fleetingly on the old woman's mouth.

Blair bit her tongue. She gave a bland smile and a noncommittal nod in the countess' direction. The countess was attempting to ferret out any gossip she could, disguising it- however thinly- as concerned advice. Like most women of the ton, Lady Willoughby lived for scandalous tales; knowing the latest on dit before the masses caught wind of it was the sport of choice amongst the ladies, and to be forthright most gentlemen as well. Blair was once intrigued by such posturing, but she had seen the damage it had done to the Van Der Woodsens. A malicious word in the ear of a garrulous matron was enough to socially ruin a person's life. Now, the countess was trying her level best to use Blair as an instrument of destruction a propos her aunt's already spotty reputation.

Why, oh why did she agree to take tea with this insufferable woman? It went against her entire nature to sit demurely while she was dictated to by a wretched busy body. Her throat ached from choking back her responses to the old bitty's attacks.

More than anything she wanted to defend her aunt and cousins. Serena and Eric's father, the late Viscount of Van Der Woodsen, was mostly to blame for the scandalous past that Lady Willoughby indicated. The viscount and Blair's maternal aunt Lily were wed out of necessity after getting caught in a compromising position. Their hasty marriage was enough to placate society, but unfortunately scandal was not through with them. Lord Van Der Woodsen was a intense gambler and kept multiple mistresses. He gambled away nearly all of the family money, then died shortly after when he drunkenly fell down the stairs at a gambling hell. Lily had to quickly remarry due to the fact that her late husband had left them destitute. Eric inherited the title and lands, but not much else.

In desperation, Lily married a supposedly rich third son of a duke more than twenty years her senior without observing the proper mourning time of one year. As it turned out, he had a failing liver and empty pockets. Upon his death two years later, Lily found herself in an eerily familiar position. She took the only recourse available to a poor lady of quality, she married for a third time. He was the second son of the Earl of Klous. He was fantastically wealthy, having invested heartily in the East India Company. But, Klous could be disturbingly unkind and was a violent drunk. Serena and Eric often took up residence at the Waldorf estate in Hamptonshire to escape. Serena and Blair shared their lessons and Eric became a son to Earl Waldorf. Fortunately for the Van Der Woodsens, Klous met his maker five years later after he succumbed to lung fever. Lily finally found herself a wealthy widow, but her respectability was tarnished, along with that of her children.

"What say you my dear?" The countess prompted, trying to ascertain if Blair was actually listening… which she was not.

"I beg your pardon?" Blair asked in as respectful voice as she could manage, focusing her dazed eyes once again on the countess's self-important visage.

"Woolgathering like that will get you nowhere, gel. Men do not favor ladies lost in their own thoughts." She chided, as if offering some highly valuable advisement. Blair almost pulled a face, but then realized none to soon that the Countess was indeed serious. She could not be rude or impertinent, though the idea of being so was almost distractingly tempting. So, cowardly though it might be, she resorted to the only course of action that would allow her freedom from this discussion.

"It's not that. Suddenly, I seem to have a touch of a headache, possibly the beginnings of a head cold as well." She stated, giving her fib credence by affecting a weak strain in her voice. "Would you mind if I took my leave early?"

"It is this weather I tell you, too wet for this time of year." The Countess stated with the authority of a member of the Royal College of Physicians. "I know you go out riding in the park every morning. You should curb those activities at once. Not only does it increase your chances of illness, it makes you appear too adventuresome. No husband wants a wife gallivanting around town." She warned with a supercilious stare.

"I will take your advice under consideration, Lady Willoughby." Blair acquiesced through gritted teeth. If the crusty aged bat gave her one more opinion on husband-hunting, she would scream. "If I may-"

"Yes, yes," the Countess interrupted, "Be gone with you then." She dismissed Blair with a regal wave of her hand.

Blair's relief was thinly veiled as she curtsied and made her way to the door. The butler appeared with her cape, bonnet and reticule. She thanked him and though he looked stunned by the gesture, he also appeared pleased.

"Good day to you, Lady Blair." The butler said as he opened the door.

"And to you as well, Hobbs."

After bidding farewell, she made haste through the ever-present rain to her waiting carriage that promised peace from the Countess.

* * *

"I'm thinking of taking a wife this year." Charles Westwick, the Duke of Bass, stated nonchalantly as he motioned to the server for another glass of brandy.

His companion, Nathanial Crawford, the Marquess of Archibald, studied him with a look that indicted he thought Charles might need to be taken to Bedlam.

"Well, I cannot hide my surprise, old chap. Why the sudden change of heart?" Nate questioned, leaning back in his chair while surveying the room to see if any of White's other members overheard his friend's declaration.

Men could gossip with an much vigor and tenacity as women, especially at a gentleman's club. White's actually had a gambling book for wagers on perspective marriages. If one had the inside tract, he could make a sizable sum.

"The usual reasons I assure you. Begetting heirs and the like." Charles replied lazily as another brandy was brought before him.

"Yes, I am much in the same situation myself. But, my nagging mother is another driving factor in my decision." The marquess added, "We are but nine and twenty though. There is still time 'fore we yield to the shackles."

"Quite." Charles murmured noncommittally.

If he was 'quite' honest with his friend he could offer more swaying information to his decidedly unexpected plan. He knew he had nothing to fear in Nate's confidence. They had been inseparable since the age of eight when they first attended Eton. Then, being of a certain age, they continued onto Cambridge where they lived hard and fast as only unruly youths could do. The women, gambling and frivolity they indulged in together had entertained them for years. Charles took his debauchery to a higher level than his friend, even after he inherited the dukedom at one and twenty. Decadence and pleasure had been his only focus, leaving his responsibilities to his solicitors and respective estate managers. He never wanted to relent to his duty or more the point, his father.

The former Duke of Bass was a cold and distant man with little or no affection for Charles. He had loved Charles' mother so entirely that upon Charles' birth and consequently her death, the duke buried anything resembling kindness or tenderness. He bordered on cruelty with his dispassionate response regarding his son. He made it known that Charles would never amount to anything resembling a future duke. He constantly reminded Charles that his life of excess was unacceptable and irresponsible, but what else could be expected of his wastrel son? Never one to argue with his father's low opinion, Charles gave himself over to his lifestyle wholeheartedly. He took every willing opera singer and courtesan to his bed (and they were all willing), drank every drop of liquor within his grasp and stayed at the Fargo table long past the point of reason. Then suddenly, his father died in a carriage accident. And Charles was the Duke of Bass. Charles railed against the responsibilities he never wanted and went deeper into his depravity. Yet, lately the self-indulgence of his existence had lost its proverbial luster after more than a decade.

Charles did not want marriage specifically, particularly not a love match. He just wanted something… different. And as much as he might want to end his father's bloodlines with him, just in spite of the late duke, he knew his duty. Besides, if he did not produce an heir, his uncle Jack would take over the dukedom. And there was no way in hell Charles would allow that to happen. So, Charles would marry some unimaginative chit of the ton and produce and heir and a spare. He would choose a wife society would expect, one he could pay little attention to, one who would be so enamored with his title and vast wealth, she would not care. And in London, there was no shortage of well bred ladies looking to become a duchess. But, all that was not readily explainable, even to Nate.

"Your reputation could be an issue." Nate hedged, trying to pull Charles from his reverie.

Charles mentally shook his head at the statement, bringing himself back to the conversation.

Nate continued with a lopsided smile, "Even the most desperate marriage minded mamas will be wary."

"You put too much weight on that facet. Women are easily won. Why do you think I have avoided ton events so adamantly? I despise the pretenses of the marriage mart. Dancing with empty-headed debutants and conversing with avaricious mamas is hardly my idea of diversion." Charles countered coolly.

"Ah…" Nate began, fighting a smile, "But now you will suffer through the mindless and greedy to marry one of them?" Upon pointing this out he could no longer hide his amusement and grinned widely.

"Touché." Charles allowed, raising his glass in salute, "However, the fact remains, I will have to suffer through to find a wife."

"Best of luck to you then." Nate offered, raising his own glass in return.

"I believe I will need it." Charles replied before they both took a hearty gulp.


	2. Chapter 2

Authors Note: Hey all! Thanks for the comments! You flatter me as always :) Here is the next chapter, I hope you enjoy it. There is a lot of work setting up characters when you do AU and it is sometimes difficult, but really fun giving them a backstory that fits.

Please review for me, nothing would make me happier :) :D :)

Here is the first appearance of Gossip Girl... xoxo

_

* * *

_

_A new season is upon us, dear readers, and with it some much needed intrigue. Welcome back to the Beau Monde from country estates and trips abroad, London has been dreadfully dull without you. When will the first scandal break, I wonder? I do not pretend to possess second sight, so I will pacify my excitement with some well placed guesses…_

…_The ever popular former Viscountess Van Der Woodsen has been strangely absent as of late. But, with their family's penchant for infamy, this humble lady can only wait eagerly for her return. Returning with her, her two children, perhaps? The young Viscount Eric Van Der Woodsen should be heading back to Eton. However, his sister Lady Serena is past due to come out this year. Reputed for her beauty and charm, Lady Serena might be this year's Incomparable. Of course, you have to overlook the family shames and concentrate on the pretty face._

_Her cousin, Lady Blair, daughter of the late Earl of Waldorf and stepdaughter to Baron Rose, might not match Lady Serena in beauty but her double dowry more than reconciles the two…_

…_And what about the prime catches of the season, you may ask? This columnist has heard the elusive Duke of Bass may favor London ballrooms this year in search of his duchess! But, careful ladies, this duke has been labeled the worst kind of rake. His colorful exploits and conquests cannot be printed here for they are not for tender ears, or eyes. _

_Similarly, if his grace attends the whirl, his faithful friend the Marquess of Archibald may fall in step behind him to the altar. While his exploits may be tamer, keep your guard, rakes often travel in the same carriage. But, with their handsome looks and equally handsome fortunes, these two may prove irresistible. Do not say I did not warn you…_

_Society Pages 13 March 1817_

_

* * *

_

_Damn… Damn, damn, damn! _

Blair repeated the blasphemy in her head until it became a chorus. She crumpled the paper between her fingers and tossed it on the breakfast table with an annoyed moan.

"What is it, dear heart?" Baron Rose asked his stepdaughter in a concerned tone while slicing into his ham.

"Forgive me, my lord, it is that insufferable gossip columnist again." She explained, reaching for the paper once more, jabbing an accusing finger at the passage, "She mentions my double dowry."

"It is not as if it is a secret. Any young lady would be lucky to possess one. It gives you the freedom to marry someone who will truly suit you." Cyrus gestured with his fork as he gave the reminder in his light, optimistic way.

She smiled at him apologetically. Blair really loved her stepfather, something she never thought possible after her father's death. Cyrus added to the dowry Blair's father had set aside for her, since he had no daughters of his own. He was such a good man, letting her into his life and his heart. They always took breakfast together when he was in town, for they were both early risers. Her mother could be abed for hours and if they waited for Eleanor to rise, they would surely starve.

"Pray forgive me again. I sound spoiled and unappreciative. I am aware of my good fortune. I would never pretend otherwise. It is just…" She paused her sad eyes leaving his understanding ones. "I fear that every degenerate gambler and fortune hunter will be clamoring for my hand. And I want…" She trailed off again, unable to complete such a revealing statement.

Yet Cyrus smiled knowingly at her, "It is understandable, dear hear. You want to marry for love."

She nodded with a resigned sigh, "Am I being naïve? I mean, to entertain the idea that I will meet someone I love and who loves me in return?"

"Some would say yes, however I found your mother so there must be some hope after all." He patted her hand in a comforting, paternal way and turned his attention back to his meal.

Blair was grateful, she did not want to discuss it further. Yet, that did not mean she could control her thoughts which stubbornly continued on the same topic. She wanted a love match. She freely admitted it, even if it was only to the baron and to herself. She understood that her goal could very well be unattainable. Love matches were rare, specially in the upper echelons of polite society. Most marriages were political or financial moves, connecting powerful families and more importantly, bloodlines.

Not that she didn't understand the importance of marrying well. She liked her life as a society darling. She loved the parties, the gowns, the attention. She was not _that_ naïve. Wealth was also a significant factor, she liked her lifestyle. And not too long ago, she was unappreciative of her status and wealth. Yet, her life had changed, and she along with it. Her common sense hadn't fled however, she still knew that money, even though it didn't mean everything, meant something. Blair would never consider herself completely mercenary. She was simply realistic. A realist who wanted to fall in love, never was there a more accurate oxymoron.

It was true, that her mother and Baron Rose were madly in love. But, her mother and father had not been.

Her parents did grow to have affection toward one another and her childhood was splendid. She knew that it was their mutual love for her that bonded them more closely. Having only been blessed with one child, and a female at that, they knew the title would not be carried on by their efforts. Blair's father nevertheless poured so much love and devotion into her, his death was shattering. Since he had no sons, save his brief years with Eric, the earl taught Blair as if she were a son. Beginning with riding, fencing, and shooting and continuing on to the running of the estate. Her mother, never one to be outdone, doted on her equally. She concerned herself with all the feminine pursuits like etiquette, fashion and music. Consequently, Blair was well rounded and accomplished, though her less lady like talents would not be touted to society. Her parents wanted a full life for her and as a result, her childhood was brimming with love.

Still, her parents had never been _in _love with each other. Her mother grieved when the earl passed, certainly. He was her friend, her life's companion. Simply put, he was just not the love of her life. That honor went to Baron Rose two years after the earl's passing.

Blair thought she knew all the different ways two people could love each other, but she was wrong. Once she saw the Baron and his new Baroness together, she started to yearn. Suddenly, Blair wanted not only what her parents had, but what Cyrus and her mother had as well. She wanted to love her children as much as she had been and simultaneously love her husband the way her mother did her second. Maybe it was simply too much to hope for, too much for one person to want. But, now that she did want it all, she could not see herself settling for less.

"Thank you, Cyrus. I am going to have my ride now." She pecked his cheek as she passed. She needed to clear her head and riding, even if it was just in the park, was the perfect avenue to do so.

"Good morning for it, just remember to take a groom with you." Cyrus called out as she walked from the breakfast parlor.

* * *

"To the devil with her!" Charles shouted, slamming down the society pages onto the breakfast table.

"Hope I am not interrupting," Nate drawled from the entryway.

Charles' butler, Masters, had long given up on announcing the marquess when he entered the household. Nate knew it annoyed the elderly man something fierce, so he would sneak in at every occasion.

Charles glared at him, "I believe you have your own personal residence, do you not?"

Nate picked up a plate from the sideboard and began to fill it with eggs, "Indeed," he offered amicably, "but your cook is better skilled."

Charles grumbled an oath under his breath.

"What has you in such a dower mood today? And who exactly were you sending to the devil when I arrived?"

Charles waited until Nate was seated at his right with a heaping breakfast plate.

"This woman." he replied, stabbing the newspaper on the table between them.

"You actually read this?" Nate asked in a voice that was a cross between incredulous and entertained.

"Apparently so." Charles countered through clenched teeth, ungratified by his friend's inference.

Nate could be annoying to the extreme. He went through life very differently than Charles. Nate didn't carry the same childhood scars, he might have experience parental badgering, but never parental indifference. Still, Charles couldn't even be jealous. Nate was a good friend, a dependable companion. He was always up for a lark, but was there to help Charles out some of his worst scrapes. Many would call Nate charming, affable, good humored, but little else. Charles understood that his friend wasn't simply devil-may-care, he was supporting and solid. Truly, he was the only family Charles had ever known. He also had a talent for handling society. Nate could swan through a ballroom, do the pretty and leave in good cheer. I talent that Charles, decidedly, lacked.

"No need to get up in arms about it, man. It is not as if she said you cheat at cards or you plan on deflowering twenty virgins in the offing." Nate said with a shrug and irritating placidity.

Charles' jaw clenched again as he attempted to keep his temper in check, "You did not even read it yet."

"Yes I did, when I broke my fast at mother's."

Charles' eyes narrowed first on Nate's face then on his apparent second breakfast of the day, "So you read it too?"

"Mmm." Was his only reply since he had just added a spoonful of eggs to his mouth.

"And still you see no reason to send that meddlesome female to the devil?"

Nate swallowed his bite and remarked, "It is not as though her musings were a complete fabrication. You _are_ looking for a wife and, like I told you before, you _do_ have a reputation."

"I was hoping to conduct my search in a more circumspect manner. And surely you do realize that now I will be prevailed upon by every fortune seeking, title hungry female so frantic they will risk _their_ reputations to trap me." Charles complained, giving up on his meal entirely, his appetite suddenly nonexistent.

"What does it really matter? You, yourself proclaimed that a convenient union was all you desired. Therefore, find one you can tolerate and be done with it." Nate suggested as he dug into his kippers.

Charles remained silent. He knew Nate was right, what did it matter? But, being a rake and being stamped as one in a London gossip rag were two very different things. A marriage of convenience was all he desired, true, yet all his life he had been sought after for his moniker and inheritance. People saw him as a blaggard, a useless dandy, that is unless you want a husband for your daughter. The hypocrisy never failed to astonish him. The whispers about his dubious character would be instantly forgotten if a marriageable female was in the room. All because he was a duke.

Now, he enjoyed the perks his circumstances allowed him and he recognized his privileged life was not to be taken for granted. But that was not all he was… right? Was it too much to want someone who might actually like _him_? Maybe so, since the ton now thought of him as this years most dangerous catch.

He did not aspire to love a wife, he refused to make himself vulnerable as his father had. Women were weak, they died at the drop of a hat. If you gave your heart to one of them, you would quickly find it next to her in a cemetery plot. So, he would endeavor to find a 'tolerable' woman as Nate put it. Unfortunately, the Beau Monde had always been in short supply of such a reclusive creature.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's note:

Thank you once more for your support! It means the world to me!

This is a short chapter to set up the ball, but I promise you will get what you want soon! Don't lose patience, please :)

This will be the last update for a few day, I have a crazy busy weekend ahead.

Thanks again, let me know if you like it! xoxo

_

* * *

_

I must extend my most heartfelt gratitude to the attendees of the Montrose Ball, you did not disappoint. The guest list was extensive and illustrious to say the least, with six hundred guests reveling in the unofficial start to the Season. Earl and Lady Montrose truly out did themselves this year, as did their company…

…_As foretold here, the Duke of Bass did indeed seem to be in search of a bride. The Duke danced with no fewer than a half dozen eligible young ladies. And with the Marquess of Archibald in tow, all the mamas and matrons were thoroughly charmed. _

_There was a particular lady that seemed inexplicably immune to the handsome Duke, one Lady Blair. Did anyone else feel the tension they shared during the waltz? Most curious, I dare say. But, one lady is really of no consequence, dear Duke, when half the ballroom is besotted with you. It is quite queer though, who is Lady Blair holding out for if not a duke?…_

…_Lady Serena is still noticeably absent from the scene. Who would keep such a gem cloistered in the country? Come now Viscountess Van Der Woodsen, give our young bucks a chance._

_Society Pages 20 March 1817 _

* * *

The glittery splendor mesmerized her.

Upon her arrival at the sprawling Montrose Manner, Blair could barely contain her excitement. This would be her first ball of the season. Her debut season had been cut short because of her father's passing followed by a year of mourning. And the next she had escaped with her mother and stepfather to Italy to accompany them on their wedding journey. Now at nearly twenty-one years, she probably should have been accustomed to such sights, but she still found herself giddy, trying to take in the opulence. The lightheartedness could also be a product of her new purpose: she wanted to fall in love. So, Blair freely gave herself over to the experience. She could meet her future love and husband tonight. The thought was almost overwhelming.

It was quite a crush, but the ballroom was expansive and well appointed. The french doors that lined the far side of the room were open, affording much needed cool breezes to the stuffy area. Large, gold gilded mirrors reflected back the scene of colorful gowns and twinkling jewels interspersed with men in full evening kit. The walls had been draped in a gauzy fabric of antique gold that enhanced the glow from hundreds of candles. Footman in full livery circulated with trays of champagne and lemonade while the orchestra members made their final preparations in anticipation of the coming dances.

After Blair, the baron and her mother made their way through the extensive receiving line and requisite announcements, they casually circulated in the mass of guests. The baroness was a rather popular noblewoman and was stopped countless times by acquaintances. Then, attention was turned to her daughter.

A steady stream of suitors sought her introduction, kissing her hand with a formal, 'My Lady'. Blair plastered her most polite smile on her face, taking the flattery they readily supplied in stride. It was not as if the compliments were not nice, but they were oddly hollow, all given in with the same amiable tone of voice and lack of imagination. She really wished Serena were here. At least the flattery they bestowed upon her was given with obvious enthusiasm. It seemed better to hear a true compliment, even if it was not directed your way. And an intrusive little voice kept asking if her suitors saw her or her infamous double dowry. She tried to give them a chance, she really did. Yet, did she really want to fall for a man who regaled her with false adulation?

She stood in a half circle of young ladies including Miss Isabel Coates and Miss Hazel Williams. They hung on her every word and giggled as they pointed out the most eligible gentlemen, whispering behind their painted ivory fans. Blair held herself regally, giving non-committal smiles when they asked her opinion on one man or another. They verbally flayed the fashion of the other ladies, trying to decide who made the biggest _faux pas_. In her first season, Blair had been a lot like them. She perused all the suitors with hopes of capturing the best titled, most wealthy or the most dashing. Now it felt slightly… pointless, and more than slightly vain. And as for tearing down those women she deemed unworthy, more to the point the biggest competition, that just felt plain petty.

Oh, how she longed for the days of carefree, albeit cruel, fun. Now, she felt a sick remorse for the person she had been. Her father's death had put the important things in life into stark relief. Titles did not matter without honor. It was never the dress you wore, but rather the person who wore it that mattered. She liked herself better this way, but she had a part to play with her 'friends'. They would never grasp the toll of grief or the changes it produced. She couldn't fully understand it herself. She definitely could still play the tons spiteful game, but it had lost its satisfaction.

She glanced down at the dance card attached to her wrist and waited for her first partner to claim her. _Famous_, she thought to herself, _Gregory Downshire, the second son of Viscount St. James_. He should have the words 'fortune hunter' quilled to his forehead. His father gambled away more than he had and Gregory seemed all to keen to keep up that family tradition. Blair sighed, resigning herself to the fact that it was going to be a long night.

"My lady?"

Blair gave a start when Mr. Downshire appeared at her side and offered her his elbow. She quickly recovered, affecting her most practiced coy demeanor.

_A long night indeed_.

* * *

Charles remembered all too acutely why he swore off society functions. He never actually forgot, but he was completely unprepared for it even so. He and Nate arrived as late as they could without appearing unforgivably rude. And once he and the marquess had been spotted, it was his worst nightmare. The hopeful and desperate matchmakers descended like a swarm of wasps.

Or locusts.

"Your grace! Your grace!" A plump matronly woman called out in a loud grating voice. Trailing behind her were three very uncomfortable looking young ladies, with their similar features they had to be related.

"Your grace!" She called again, at the same volume even though, at this point, she was not even two feet away.

_Definitely locusts_, Charles decided, taking in what would no doubt be the first of many such encounters that eve. He looked around him and realized Nate had been snared into another exchange with the elderly Countess of Willoughby. He definitely wanted none of _that_, so presently he was on his own.

Sportingly, Charles did the only thing he could, he laid on the charm- thick. He supposed he could have given them his legendary ducal scowl and sent them running for the hills, but he was, after all, looking for a wife. A wife. The thought still jarred him a bit. He thought he had come to terms, but the word, _wife_, just sounded so… permanent. Affecting a congenial smile toward the quartet, he executed a smart bow.

"Your grace, may I present my daughters? Judith, Katherine and Eloise Thornwood." She offered in the same shrill octave as before, indicating to each girl as she announced their names.

The debutants, in turn, curtsied and murmured, "Your Grace".

"Ladies it is an absolute pleasure." Charles replied after dutifully kissing each of the girls' knuckles.

Lady Thornwood obviously chose her two eldest daughters, Judith and Katherine, for having the best chance at claiming the duke's attention. She prattled on about their apparently important accomplishments with watercolors and needlework. He nodded courteously and feigned interest, but his gaze settled on the youngest, Eloise.

She was not beautiful by any means, but pleasant enough and she also appeared to be painfully shy. Additionally, she was about a stone too heavy to be considered fashionable, even though it gave her a more well-rounded, womanly look. Along with her more mature figure she had beautiful green eyes. When she actually took her eyes off the floor, he could see the innate kindness residing with in. Eloise clearly felt awkward and noticed her mother's blatant disregard for her ability to attract a husband. Uncharacteristically, Charles' heart went out to the girl. He understood parental preconceptions and how effecting they could be. Charles wanted to do something considerate for her, even if it was just to getting her away from her officious mother for a few minutes.

Without waiting for a break in the conversation- because, Good God!, if he did he might be there all night- he turned and addressed the young miss.

"Pardon me, Miss Eloise, would you do me the great honor of granting me this dance?" He asked in a honey smooth cadence, unleashing the full effect of his smile.

The girl was utterly confounded, "Me?" She squeaked.

His voice turned to satin, his smile indulgent, "I arrived late to tonight's festivities and have yet to enjoy any of the dancing. It would be remiss of me not to ask such a charming young lady for this set, a cotillion I believe. Would you care to oblige me?"

She nodded, too dazed to speak. It was apparently a family affliction, for when she placed her hand in the crook of his elbow, her mother and sisters were gaping after her like a trio of trout.

Charles smiled a true smile. There were few pure joys to be found at these events. But, most assuredly, turning a woman like Lady Thornwood to speechlessness was one of them.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note:

Hello my impatient friends, the time as come for our couple to meet! (BassKingdom, it is indeed twice as long and I concede that majority rules ;))

I hope it proves worth the wait... I happen to be very happy with this chapt. It was fun to write and made me smile.

Please leave me a review if it's up to snuff. xoxo

_

* * *

_

I give up!

Blair screamed the declaration in her head as Sir Walter March stepped on her foot for the fifth time. She winced slightly through her smile as his boot crushed her satin slipper. A few moments later God proved merciful and the orchestra floated through the final bars of the dance. She caught herself before she made an audible sigh of relief and dropped a quick curtsy to her partner. March gave a bow in return, then began to walk with her off the dance floor.

"May I escort you back to your parents?" He asked, spying the couple in question on the opposite side of the dance floor.

"No!" She exclaimed with a little too much force, but her aching toes could not bear a turn about the room with him.

"It is very gracious of you," she recovered, "but I think I will adjourn to the ladies retiring room just now." She smiled winningly at him to soften the dismissal.

"Very well, my lady." He bowed again and took his leave.

This time she did sigh out loud, wiggling her toes to encourage much needed circulation.

She was sadly mistaken, this was not a long night, this was an _excruciatingly _long night. Any giddy feelings she might have had upon her arrival died a quick, efficient death.

Gregory Downshire turned out not only to be a fortune seeker, he was also a lecher. He ogled her breasts through the modest neckline of her gown and asked her for a late night stroll through the gardens (and every young woman understood that "strolling in the gardens" was not an invite to view foliage). His request might have been less repulsive if he had actually met her eyes while he inquired.

Her second dance partner was not as nauseating, but so boring she began to recite Shakespearean sonnets in her head to pass the time. And she abhorred Shakespeare.

The third was Ralph Groverton, heir to the modest earldom of Claybourne. He was neither lecherous nor boring and he was relatively handsome, if you could get past his unfortunately large ears. But, there was no spark, no interest, he was just… there.

And finally, Sir Walter, unapologetically clumsy with a fondness for his hounds that could only be described as fervent reverence, the kind that most people reserved for gods or saints.

This husband business was much more trying than she imagined and that was without adding love to the equation. Her endeavor was appearing more ridiculous dance partner by dance partner. Was it too much to crave a connection? Something that incited an emotion other than ennui or outright disgust? The course of events tonight seemed to be her answer.

* * *

He was watching her.

She moved with unconscious grace. Her lustrous brown hair shimmered in the candlelight, her eyes sparkled. It was only in those velvety chocolate depths that she disclosed any emotion other than amicable civility. Nonetheless, he could see it, read the truth beyond the demure mask. He was not certain how the young bucks she conversed with could not decipher her honest response. Charles could effortlessly. Maybe they were not really trying or, more likely, they did not care to know. Either way, Charles pitied them, they did not comprehend what a fascinating lady they were with. And she was a lady, outwardly at least. But, he could see the tempest underneath the tranquil façade.

She was pretty, resembling a delicate porcelain doll with her creamy white skin and wide eyes. Her gown of green watered silk was proper enough, but still hinted at the treasures that resided beneath. And her lips, Charles could swear those lips were made for sinning. He felt his body tighten when she unconsciously licked them. His eyes followed her as she moved through the dance.

He wanted her. Maybe only on a primal level, but he did. Those eyes betrayed her cool collectedness, he saw the fire, the passion. And he wanted to fan the flames and let them consume him.

No other woman in the vast, congested ballroom had even tugged at his curiosity. And number of them were former lovers. There was something about her, his mystery vixen in green. She wasn't the lushest of figure, instead she was rather compact and peite. She also didn't possess the most obvious beauty, it was subtle. The kind of beauty that grows on a person, the kind that wouldn't fade with the years, but would last well after the first blush of youth was past.

Her last dance deposited her a few feet from his vantage point on the outskirts of the dance floor. He walked toward her and caught the fresh scent of lavender through the heavily perfumed throng. His body responded to the light, innocent fragrance, throwing him into erotic thoughts. He shook them off before his imagination did away with his gentlemanly aspirations. He had to smirk at that. Charles and the phrase 'gentlemanly aspirations' weren't exactly synonymous.

Coming up but a foot behind her, he spoke, "A narrow escape, my lady, you are to be commended."

She twirled around quickly in response, kicking up the beguiling scent of lavender again. "Excuse me?" She questioned, her eyes displaying her befuddlement.

"Your dismissal." He explained, leaning in conspiratorially, "I do not believe your feet could have survived without permanent damage in his presence any longer."

He smiled in amusement as she searched for an appropriate response, her eyes a thousand times more mesmeric up close.

Finally, she laughed, a full honest tinkling laugh that Charles felt throughout his entire being. Damn, but she was lovely.

"You are very observant your grace, though not very charitable, I think, to remark upon another man's shortcomings." She chided with a lingering smile.

Charles wanted to kiss her, badly. She was rousing, sweet and sassy.

"You know who I am?" He remarked, having picked out his address of deference in her response.

"Yes." She said simply, the humor leaving her eyes.

"Then you have me at a disadvantage, for I do not know you." He hinted.

"Pity." She returned, giving nothing away. She raised a finely arched brow that dared him to respond.

"And you will do nothing to rectify that, then?" Charles surmised, even more engrossed than before.

She smirked again, with a twinkle in her eyes that spoke of mischief, "I believe it would do wonders for your character, your grace. You do not strike me as a man who is often at a disadvantage."

"Truer words were never spoken." He acceded, "Although, in that assumption you must also realize that a mystery as compelling as this will only strengthen my resolve." His tip tilted eyes turned dark and promising.

Blair felt her heartbeat accelerate and her mouth dry up. She realized too late that this man, if need be, could transform into a formidable and daunting adversary. She belatedly understood why she shouldn't encouraged their dialogue, she knew who he was and furthermore he was not the type of man to flirt with.

But, the night have been so dull, so lifeless. And he was brimming with astuteness and vitality.

Oh yes, he was a virile man. Even dressed as every other gentleman in the ballroom, in black and white, he looked elegant and dangerous simultaneously. The only color in his ensemble was a ruby cravat pin held the crisp folds together. He was of average height, but the aura surrounding him was powerful bordering on intimidating. It was that quality that made him appear larger than he actually was. His body was slender, but not effeminately so. There was just enough substance to characterize him as potently male; sleek muscles hidden behind wool, silk and linen. She wanted to know him, all of him. She wanted to touch him, just to experience the feel of his sinewy strength beneath her hands. It was his draw, his masculine magnetism that worried her to the core.

Blair suddenly realized the wanton course her thoughts had taken and she blushed fiercely. She had to get away from the devastating Duke, with all possible haste. Her gaze swept the ballroom, seeking an escape. She met her mother's eyes and very nearly wept with relief. She cocked her head up slightly to beckon her mother's assistance.

However, the Duke followed her silent exchange with the Baroness and a lazy grin appeared before she could excuse herself.

"It follows that you must be Lady Blair." He remarked triumphantly in recognition of her mother.

Charles could almost hear her inner battle as she decided whether or not to admit defeat. With a resigned sigh she acknowledged, "Indeed, Lady Blair Waldorf."

He grasped her right hand in his and slowly brought it to his lips, his gaze locked with hers.

"It is exceedingly delightful to make your acquaintance, Lady Blair." He murmured before his lips made contact with her gloved hand.

She gasped softly at his touch, feeling a surge circulate through her bloodstream. She extricated her hand from his as though she had been burned. And that is how it felt, a lingering brand that blazed through the silk of her glove to her skin.

Her eyes doing anything to avoid his, darted around the assembly to her mother once more. The baroness was making her way through the horde of party goers toward Blair, but the crush of bodies made her progress a slow one.

"May I request a dance, Lady Blair?" Charles asked, snapping her attention back to his exceedingly attractive visage. He leaned nearer to her again, "I promise your toes will be no worse for wear when we are through."

She stammered, mentally kicking herself for the telling quaver, "T-thank you, but my dance card is full this evening."

Charles gave her an assessing look, then his lips curled into an laughing grin, "I do not think I believe you."

His cheeky response ruffled her, "Are you questioning my honor, your grace?" She posed with a piercing glare.

"No." He countered, his concentration rapt by the fire in her eyes.

She bristled at his neat denial, "But you _are_ calling me a liar."

It was not a question, but Charles answered it in turn, "Wrong again, my lady." He could not help baiting her further, "I rather think you a coward."

Her spine stiffened at his words. He saw not only her eyes but her entire face flash with indignation.

"I beg your pardon!" Blair ground out, her temper showing.

"You do not want to be alone with me." He challenged, finding himself irrationally enthralled with what her response would be.

She quirked the same arrogant eyebrow as before, "I hardly think dancing in a room with six hundred people constitutes 'alone', your grace."

Charles smile resurfaced impressed by her rejoinder, "Allow me to rephrase, you don't want to be in my presence with my undivided attention, then?" He paused for effect, "Especially not with your body in my arms, mine to direct, to command."

Blair hid her agreement and outright astonishment at his forward manner and said, "Whether or not that is true, it does not signify. I am otherwise engaged for tonight's sets. Any ulterior motives I might possess are inconsequential." She threw him a withering look as if to end their banter.

Charles would have none of that, he had not had this much fun sparring with a female in… well, ever.

"But they are intriguing." He let his hot, hungry gaze drop from hers to drink in the rest of her, lingering on her bosom. "Your motives that is." He clarified, his eyes reaching her face again.

Blair felt his perusal, but it did not make her feel ill like Gregory Downshire's did. It made her feel warm, restless and she knew a blush reappeared on her cheeks. Her reactions were alarming, no man had ever turned her to jelly with a mere look. She was not sure if she disliked the effect or not. What she definitely did not like was feeling off balance. Her mind forced her rebellious body to take a step away.

"Are you afraid of me?" He asked, tracking her motion.

"No." It was a flagrant lie and her small voice divulged the truth completely.

He took a step himself, eliminating the distance she had gained, "Then why are you backing away?" He whispered in a husky intonation.

Blair almost leaned into him, he was hypnotic. He made her want to say something shocking or do something wicked. Because his reaction would not be reproachful, he would be impressed, pleased. She had the oddest notion that she could be herself with him. Which was a daft idea, she did not know this man from Adam. The only knowledge she had of him and his character were the rumors she had overheard. And those were not of a laudatory nature. But the feeling persisted, she was strangely disarmed by him.

Just then, someone brushed her shoulder as they passed and it broke the spell that had come over her. Suddenly, she remembered the six hundred guests she had just reminded him of, she recalled that anyone could see them or, more upsettingly, hear them.

Blair steeled herself against the odd power he held and remarked, "Your reputation proceeds you, your grace."

That seemed to break him of the spell as well, for when he spoke his voice was hard with resentment, "Do not believe everything you read."

His tone bolstered her confidence, this man was not unflappable after all, "You deny you are a terrible rake?" She asked with palpable skepticism. When he began to form his rebuttal, she put up her hand, "Bother not, I have heard it from numerous sources."

Inexplicably, this seemed to please him. Blair wondered why, searching his face for a clue.

It all became clear when he said, "You have been asking after me, then?"

Blair felt the urge to roll her eyes. _Men!_, she thought, _Egotistical and self congratulatory, the lot of them!_

She endeavored to put him in his place, "Pray, do not extract flattery where there is none to be had. You are a popular topic in drawing rooms throughout Mayfair, surely you must know that."

This did not appear to quell his optimism, "I rather liked my way of thinking better." He persisted with a grin that was nearly boyish but somehow still tantalizing.

Blair could not completely suppress the little huff of exasperated laughter that escaped her lips, nor the resulting smile.

"I would, for my part, not want to perpetuate any falsehoods."

Bolstered by her amusement, he pushed once more, "So, it is purely my reputation that has you on edge?"

She sobered at his prompt, "Is that not enough?"

He turned conciliatory, "If all the stories are true and I am, as you presume, an irredeemable rogue," His lips quirked again at her surprised expression to his candor. "Then I might have to inform you that being with a rake does have certain advantages." His velvet voice pared with a smothering look made him appear every inch the rake he was reported to be. And his words, laced with such sensual assurance, left little to be interpreted.

Blair felt her cheeks grow pink again as the tingling in her body was renewed. She blinked several times to clear the fog on her brain.

"I am sure I don't know what you mean." She replied, slightly breathless, at once castigating herself for taking part in this highly improper, completely thrilling conversation.

He lowered his head and through heavy lidded eyes he stared at her. Next, with a silken rough tone, he pledged, "No... But you will."

He grabbed her hand again, as if he was going to kiss it like the last time. All Blair could do was watch, eyes wide, her mind dazed. But, before her hand reached his face, he snatched the dance card dangling on her wrist.

"Ah, one unclaimed dance." He said in a tone that alleged that all his suspicions had been confirmed. "Do you prefer liar or coward then, minx?" He offered as he penciled his name into the final slot.

Blair yanked her hand away as her jaw went from slackened to clenched, her ire rising swiftly at his implication, "I am neither, your grace. It is the waltz and I have not gained permission to dance it. My mother thinks it improper."

He chuckled at her haughty explanation, "See there, you underestimate my powers of persuasion, love."

Suddenly he turned, throwing Blair for a loop. One moment she had been lost in his deep brown eyes, the next she was staring at his broad shoulders encased in a perfectly cut black evening coat. It took a moment to realize her mother was standing with the duke.

"Baroness Rose at long last, we finally meet." Charles stated with a formal bow and gentlemanly smile.

"Oh my." The baroness uttered at the duke's deep bow.

Her mother fell under his spell instantaneously. Blair almost groaned in reaction.

"Good evening, your grace. I did not know you were acquainted with my daughter."

"Newly acquainted, madam. We were just conversing about tonight's dancing." He looked to Blair for confirmation.

She dipped her head in assent, but wanted to comment that it was the smallest, most inconsequential part of their discussion.

"The ball sincerely is lovely. Are you enjoying yourself, your grace?" Baroness Rose asked respectfully.

"In the company of two such beautiful ladies, I do not comprehend how I could not be gratified." He flattered with an easy grin.

"Thank you, your grace. You are ever so kind." She replied, captivated. The Baroness flicked her fan over her suddenly rosy cheeks.

Blair wanted to groan again. Apparently his maneuvers succeeded with ladies of all ages. Her mother looked close to lovesick.

Charles gave the baroness an imploring look, "I would like to request a slight favor from you perhaps. I swear it would increase my enjoyment of tonight's revelry."

"Of course." Eleanor agreed without hesitation. His beseeching tone, and not to mention his title, secured that she could deny him nothing.

"I was hoping you would grant Lady Blair permission to dance the waltz so that I might have the delight of her company. I know some call it a scandalous dance, but I can assure you, she will be safe in my care." His earnestness was evident and if Blair hadn't nearly succumb to his vast arsenal of charms not two minutes ago, she might have been more apt to believe it.

Blair's mother waved off the favor as trivial, "'Tis no problem. I am sure my daughter will take great pleasure in dancing with you."

Both of them looked to Blair and she held a brittle smile, while on the inside she was fuming. How she hated standing there having the rest of the world make decisions for her! She could not even refuse a dance partner without being backed into a corner by propriety. Her mother was supposed to be on _her_ side, wasn't she? Blair would have called her irked feeling 'betrayal of the highest order' if she didn't fully understand the duke's appeal.

"I believe it will be pleasurable for both of us." He remarked, never taking his gaze off Blair as his eyes turned liquid.

Her breath caught at his words. She had never met a man like this, so brazen, so sensual.

_And for good reason_, she thought.

Blair had no idea how to handle this kind of male. Impulsively she glanced at his mouth, wondering what it would be like to kiss him. He probably had plenty of practice, bedding half of the women in London. All the same, his lips were full and beckoning. She pondered if they would be soft or rough, gentle or demanding.

He caught her looking at his mouth that had arched into a lopsided smile in reaction. She quickly turned her attention to the massive ceiling chandelier, studying it with sudden engrossed interest.

The countess heard her name being called from behind and she turned. Recognizing an acquaintance, she gave her regrets, "Would you please excuse me?" She tendered automatically with an enchanted smile at Charles.

He bowed in farewell, "Baroness."

Immediately he rotated fully to find a disgruntled Blair. He wore an expression of superior victory, "That was not so horribly difficult was it?" Charles asked provokingly.

Before Blair could give in the retort resting on her tongue, Nate appeared.

"There you are." Nate called, clasping Charles on the shoulder, "You disappeared and I was- Oh, hello." He stopped mid-sentence upon noticing Blair.

For her part, she was wholly stunned. Both gentleman in front of her were exceedingly attractive, but entirely opposite. Duke Bass was dark where Marquess Archibald was light. The marquess was a bit taller and broader of shoulder too. His appeal was more universal, she ruminated, while the duke held a mysterious allure all his own. The duke's eyes were intense, deep and penetrating, the marquess' eyes held a playful, welcoming warmth. The marquess lacked the shrewd intelligence in his eyes as well, but there was an openness there that the duke did not possess. Nate's gaze did not make her knees feel watery or her pulse rush in an erratic rhythm either.

Charles hid his annoyance at his friend's poor timing and made the introductions, "Lady Blair Waldorf, may I present Nathanial, the Marquess of Archibald."

"At your service, my lady." Nate commented smoothly as he kissed her hand.

His lips didn't flush her cheeks or singe her skin. She felt much more comfortable with this introduction. No wonder ladies swooned for these two, they were the epitome of fashionable, suave gentlemen. The duke was currently shooting daggers at his friend's averted face, as the marquess rose from his bow. So, naturally, she took the opportunity to extricate herself from the duke's unnerving presence.

"And what services will you be performing for me this eve, my lord?" She knew is was a forward, pert comment, but it had the desired effect. Nate laughed, Charles scowled.

"Perchance, we will leave that up to your discretion." Nate remarked with good cheer, oblivious to Charles' increasing fowl mood.

Blair smiled modestly, finally feeling back in control of her senses, "Excellent. I believe I require some refreshment. I find I have become terribly parched."

Nate obediently offered her his arm, "Allow me to escort you to your destination."

"Thank you for your service." She added sweetly before bobbing an requisite curtsy to the duke, "Your Grace."

Charles, admitting he had been bested this round, gave a bow and put in, "I will find you for our waltz. Until then my lady."

Her eyes widened at his aide memoire. Before she could find her voice, the marquess was leading her in the direction of the punch bowls. He kept up a steady stream of well-mannered comments as they perambulated. However, Blair could not focus enough to join in. Her thoughts were centered on the duke and his dark promises. The strangest impulse to peek over her shoulder swarmed her, just to see if he was still watching.

She swore she could still feel his eyes on her.


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Note:

I have a confession: I think I have the most amazing readers in all of fanfiction-dom! You guys are awesome! Thank you for your reviews, they make me double my efforts!

This is another short one... another lengthy one will be next so, no worries :)

Thanks again for the support! xoxo

* * *

He watched her walk away, trying to keep her in his sights. But she and Nate were quickly swallowed up by the crowd. Charles felt rooted to one spot even though he was constantly jostled by other guests making their way through the ballroom. She was even more fascinating than he ever imagined. Observing her from afar had piqued his awareness, but conversing with the lady captured him completely. She might appear porcelain, but when he kissed her hand he felt the rushing pulse, the scorching heat. She was flesh and blood. And right then, he vowed he would have her.

A strange, foreign possessiveness consumed him when she walked away with the Marquess. Jealousy, pure and intense, rattled through his body. He balled his hands into fists to control the urge to snatch her away and declare her his. It was an odd sentiment, that. Charles had never before experienced the rioting emotions Lady Blair infused in him. And that was only after a brief contact, he could not begin to envision his reactions if he made love to her. Maybe it was because she was untouched, her delightful blush at his more inappropriate comments confirmed her virginity. He wanted to be the first, and the only, to claim her, ravish her, pleasure her. Oh, yes, that must be it. The thought alone was so delicious his mouth watered.

While her body had beckoned him, it was her wit and defiance that cemented his thrall. She went toe to toe with him, trading scathing retorts that challenged and burned. She would not be cowed, of that he was certain. It seemed that his title did not mesmerize her, nor did it deter. At first, he thought himself unknown to Blair and that was why she spoke so plainly. Then, she revealed that she was all too aware of his identity and, lamentably, his reputation. He was right to wish that gossip woman to the devil. Blair seemed put off by his rakish ways, but that was of no consequence.

Lady Blair would become Duchess Bass, he had no doubt.

A slight reminder flashed in his head, he wanted a predictable girl, easily used and forgotten. All of his intentions before meeting her were aligned with that dull ideal. He shrugged it off, pushed it back behind his desire and lust, his curiosity and absorption. A plan began to formulate in his mind. While the idea of courting was as abhorrent as a needle through the eye, he would do what needed to be done. Usually he would be hell bent on seduction, the sooner the better. And even if his reputation would allow for the seduction of an innocent, he was a gentleman. At least gentleman enough to know that this seduction would end in holy matrimony.

Charles just hoped he was correct in his assessment that women were quickly won. Yet if one woman was an exception, it would be the captivating Lady Blair.

* * *

Blair thought of thirty different ways to escape the party or more directly her impending waltz. She could complain of a megrim or a putrid stomach. She could trip and sprain an ankle, that would most assuredly get her out of dancing. She could tear the hem of her gown, but she was quite fond of this frock. Her fantasies all came back to the same conclusion. As troubling as it might be, she had to stay and face the music, most literally.

She was Blair Waldorf!

No one, not even the shiver inducing duke would turn her craven. That would play right into his hand. He had already called her a coward. She was most definitely not going to prove him right.

Running through their conversation again, Blair couldn't pin point what it was about him that made her want to flee the scene. He was handsome to be sure and intelligent, probably smarter than she. He had a rapier wit and a silver tongue, yet that wasn't it either. It was the strange pull he exerted. She felt as though she was being reeled in and no matter how hard she fought, she would find herself caught in the end.

His effect on her body temperature was also startling. She felt flashes of heat in his presence. Unfamiliar warmth swamped her with a touch, a smile, a laugh. She felt hotter simply remembering him.

And he was dangerous. Even if she had never heard the warnings before, she would have known. His dark eyes burned with intimate knowledge, confidence, desire. When his gaze had settled on her, she swore he could see right through her, read her most private thoughts. Like he understood secrets she wasn't even aware she possessed. It was little wonder women fell all over themselves to be his paramour. Maybe he knew their secrets too.

He was definitely a libertine, a highly successful one at that. The Duke of Bass was alluring, of that there was no question. But he was not the type of man she was searching for. Oh, she could see herself falling in love with him someday. If she let herself, she would be besotted in a fortnight. Because of the way he made her feel desirable, womanly. When he spoke to her, it wasn't condescending or stiff. He goaded her into honesty. She, too, felt the world had melted away when they spoke, like she was the only woman in the room.

But the biggest reason she was in peril where the Duke was concerned was...

He danced with Eloise Thornwood. No doubt he made her feel all the things Blair had. Eloise was a wallflower and he was a duke. When he looked at her, Blair was sure, Eloise felt like a princess.

There was a huge detraction to the duke, one big enough to dismiss all the pros. He could never love her. She doubted he could be faithful, let alone give his heart away. So, she resolved to not allow the duke to charm her further. She would exhibit absolutely no interest and he would forget her. Men were easy to dissuade, especially ones with wandering eyes.

But, in truth, if there was one man who relished a challenge, she suspected it was the devilish Duke of Bass.


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Note:

Thanks again my wonderful readers for your reviews :) I am so excited that you like this as much as I do!

Last update for a while (a week at least)... I am weird and I have to write out stories longhand then type them later, so bear with me

Now we dance & some other things as well ;)

Sorry about the false posting, it didn't take my updates grrr...

Let me know what you think! xoxo

* * *

Charles started to wonder if Lady Blair had cut and run. Their promised waltz was set to begin in less than a quarter hour and she had conveniently vanished. A reluctant smile began to twist on his lips.

_Mayhap a coward after all_.

He had unsettled her, robbed her of her defense of distant politeness. That achievement alone gave him an odd sense of pleasure.

He visually searched through the ballroom and physically searched through the open galleries, but she was missing. He spied the French doors leading out onto the terrace, wondering if fate would be that kind.

It did not escape him that this was a new occurrence, him seeking out a woman. Women, for all their practiced coyness, had always hunted him like an unfortunate fox. While he mused that it should have aggravated the devil out of him that she was leading him on a merry chase, it had the opposite effect. It had been an age since he'd had a worthwhile challenge. And he would win. Ah, winning would be the best part of all.

He walked out into the cool night, scanning the thin assemblage of guests. Some were sipping champagne and conversing in groups of four or five. Others were couples, stealing away for private moments behind the ancient elms that lined the pathways.

He almost missed her. But a wisp of green silk caught the moonlight and his attention. She was cloaked in varying degrees of shadow, running her gloved hand across the rosebushes that had yet to bloom. Charles started toward her feeling very much like a hungry tiger prowling for his next meal. And what a tasty tidbit she made.

The moon cast its light softly on her form as she moved farther off the garden path and closer to the bricked façade of the manor, well away from any other revelors. The uncertain light bleached the world of richness so her skin glowed like a polished ivory pearl and her hair appeared ebony instead of rich tawny.

As he edged closer, Charles could hear the rustling of her skirts with each sway of her hips. Another sound reached his ears, her soft voice humming an unfamiliar tune. He paused to drink in the unguarded moment. For he understood once she realized she was being observed, she would retreat into her public persona.

_Enchanting,_ he thought, _Utterly enchanting._

Too soon, she froze, becoming aware of another presence. She turned to face the interloper. Loose tendrils of her pinned up hair played across her cheek and neck in the soft breeze. Charles' fingers itched to touch the strands, just to know if they were as silky-smooth as they looked.

Blair was silent for a moment longer as her eyes savored the sight of him, even more forbidden in private. Her mouth opened and closed, apparently not settling on a greeting or an apology.

Charles took pity on her as he moved closer, "I came to find my elusive dance partner, but I believe I have stumbled upon an angel instead."

Blair fought down the ridiculous delight his comment inspired. She hesitated to speak again, not wanting to encourage the duke, nor unduly offend him. He _was_ a duke after all. His position did demand a level of respect.

He seemed to understand her dilemma, possessing an uncanny ability to read her, he smiled kindly and waited patiently for her to choose her words.

"I beg your pardon, Your Grace. I just needed to step out for some air." Now that she looked at him, she couldn't seem to look away, "The ballroom was quite stifling."

He nodded, "Yes, pompousness does make the air rather thick at these occasions,"

She smiled at his quip with great reluctance. Charles thought she appeared dead set against finding him appealing.

"Would you like to take a turn about the gardens or return for the dance?" Charles offered solicitously.

"Honestly?" She hedged, looking up at him through her lashes.

"I do not believe that word has ever been uttered at a ton ball before," He mused with a grin, "By all means, why don't we try it, if only for the novelty."

She fought another smile rising on her lips, but he could see it clearly in her eyes.

"Neither, Your Grace." She answered boldly. Her expression daring him to send her a reprimand.

Instead, he chuckled, a low deep sound that cloaked her in warmth. "Now I understand why honesty is so ill favored. It does prick the pride."

She was automatically contrite, "Please believe me, that was not my intention." Too many lessons of manners drilled into her from birth wouldn't let the statement pass.

"No need for assurances, love. I actually find it refreshing. You even more so." He stared deeply into her eyes which were cast as fathomless black by the lack of candlelight.

Her breathing became more shallow and rapid at his gaze. She felt like he was searching her face for something and stealing part of her soul in the process. She was not comforted by it, it made her blood run thick in her veins. Cold brick met her shoulders before she realized she had been edging away. His right hand came to rest on the stone just below her shoulder, close but not quite touching.

She felt trapped; trapped in a moonlight garden with a notorious rake. This could not be happening to her. This scenario only occurred in lurid gothic novels or in tales mothers told their overeager daughters. It must be a nightmare. That was the only explanation, a terrible (very vivid) nightmare.

He leaned his head down closer until it was level with hers. He was mere inches away, his warm breath fanning out on her lips. Suddenly, it was not a nightmare at all. It was a wicked fantasy, one she never let herself admit she had. Her stomach tightened, her nerves stretched. And she waited.

Charles breathed deeply through his nose, "Mmmm… You smell incredible, like lavender bathed in sunshine."

His provocative rasping intonation was a mere whisper, he even made the word 'lavender' sound like a benediction. She could almost feel the remark as well as hear it, his intense voice was so close to her skin. Clearly out of her depth, Blair could do nothing to stop what happened next.

"I wonder…" He trailed off as his mouth closed the final distance and met hers.

His lips swept over Blair's, gentle and coaxing. Charles directed the kiss with tender brushes and subtle pressure, letting her familiarize herself to the sensations. He could feel her hesitation, could almost taste the questions and confusion on her soft, full mouth. He did not rush, nor did he push. He simply used his skill and determination to take the edge off her indecision.

Measure by measure, she slow succumb to the undertaking, relaxing heat dissolving her resistance. Gradually, she began to respond. Charles felt the triumph through his entire being. She kissed with innocent ardor, a slow gaining passion bubbling up until she moved her lips in time with his.

When he knew she was accustomed to the kiss, he used his tongue to trace her bottom lip. She gasped softly at the unusual feeling. He took advantage of her suddenly parted lips, impelling his tongue inside the moist cavern of her mouth. She tensed only to relax as the heat increased, liquefying any struggle she might have waged.

His rich taste, his clean male scent, his hard body, it was all too much to grasp. Weak-kneed, she swayed into the duke and he was keen to steady her. His hands met her waist, gripping slightly into the corset stays that, to his frustration, modulated the true shape of her. He wanted nothing more than to feel her bare beneath his hands. The silk would be so easy to peel from her; a few strategically popped buttons and loosened laces and she would be free. Free for his perusal, his enjoyment.

_Patience_, he reminded himself. The time would come. And _when_ it came, he would indulge his lust until neither one of them could walk for a week. The thought did little to quell his need. She was intoxicating, Charles had never encountered this kind of rapacity for a woman before. Only a single word pushed through his passion fogged brain…

_Mine._

His tongue became wilder, plundering and commanding. She moaned quietly and twined her hands around his neck, bringing their bodies flush. They were perfectly matched, nearly of a height that connected her breasts to his chest, locked them intimately hip to hip.

Charles slid his hands down to the small of Blair's back, compelling her nearer as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss.

She moaned again, completely lost in the fray. Adrift on a sea of blistering heat and unknown sensations, Blair found herself pliant and needy, willing to go wherever he led. Her wits had scattered the moment his lips had made contact. But now they seemed to have fled the hemisphere. Her fingers curled into his hair, the locks thick and soft in her grasp. She wanted to bind his body to hers, meld their mouths together so this moment would never fade into another, another where he was not kissing her.

Because, while it was completely shameless and definitely more than a touch reckless, it was also exquisite. It was unqualified, absolute bliss. Her body ached in unusual places and her lack of full breaths left her dizzy. All the same, it was part of the package; the loss of control for the gain of sinful felicity.

Innocently, she began to shift against him, her body entreating him to ease the aching fever. His discipline almost slipped when her hips pushed into his, ripping a groan of unadulterated yearning from his throat. He was rock hard and throbbing, his body primed to slake his craving. It was time to stop, Charles knew. Time to pull away and let her go. Yet, his demons screamed for release, for fulfillment.

Using every last fiber of his control, he reluctantly drew back; reducing the urgency by slow degrees, finally employing comforting nuzzles of his mouth to bring them both back to reality. She sagged against the brick, his hands a steadying weight at her waist. Both their breathing was ragged and quick, their chests rising and falling in scabrous billows.

When the haze started to lift, Charles recovered enough to whisper, "Incidentally, I was exactly right."

She met his gaze with a perplexed look, her eyes still glazed with passion.

"You do taste as delicious as you smell." He ducked to capture her earlobe between his teeth, "Better in fact."

She become rigid instantly, her brain shoving away the cobwebs and focusing sharply.

"You forget yourself, sir." She remarked with outraged superiority. She tried to pass her strangled voice off as indignation.

He was still too close, emanating a body heat that cocooned her, screened her from the crisp March wind. His smile deepened, "Au contraire my lady, I believe it is you who has forgotten. I thought my reputation proceeded me."

Her spine stiffened to poker straight. "You have just proven beyond doubt that you are as debauched as they insinuated. Taking advantage of a lady without soliciting her wishes, confirms that you are no gentleman. Leave me now, sir." The last of the drugging, kiss induced languor left her body, seething anger and embarrassment left in its stead.

_What have I done? _She chided, when the knowledge of her indescrestion settled on her. If she had been caught, she would be ruined.

A slow curve of sheer seduction appeared on his lips. Blair fought not to fidget, fought the warring compulsions even now beating in her blood. He leveled his face to hers again.

Blair feared he would swoop and capture her into another soul searing kiss. Contrarily, she feared he would not, that she would never again appreciate the silken pressure of his lips. And not knowing which she truly sought was throwing her perilously off kilter. Mentally she grappled for purchase on her inclinations, attempting- in vain- to calm the furious cadence of her heart.

"Do you dare deny your enjoyment, my sweet? Were you not just panting in my arms? Do not pretend you did not experience the same rapture as I. You never wanted it to end." He kissed her neck, finding the throbbing pulse point at the base before he continued. "Neither did I." She sucked in a quick breath, but did not release it. "Come now, my lady, did we not agree on honesty?"

Charles pulled back to see her face. He examined her eyes for a full minute then, suddenly he sobered. And instead of taking another liberty, he pulled back, straightening his posture.

Blair felt strangely bereft.

"Forgive me. I did not realize my advances were so repugnant." He paused, looking at her solemnly, "The only excuse I can tender is I find you very hard to resist."

_That_ was the last thing on earth she expected him to say. He had the clear advantage, but he did not push it. Mournfully, she recognized that if he had not ended their embrace, she might never have found the strength. Blair eyed him skeptically. He did look earnest, if not a little self-depreciating. It seemed a quick turn around, one minute he was feasting on her, the next requesting her forgiveness. She weighed her options, and inwardly sighed in resignation. Even if he was no gentleman, she was a lady.

"No harm done, Your Grace." She stated, wishing her voice wasn't quite so small. And most of all wishing the sentiment was not a complete fabrication. She might not call it _harm_, but he had changed something in her she could not shake off. "Now if you will excuse me, I must return before I am missed."

She was trying to dismiss _him_, he thought with a touch of humor. She was going to make an admirable duchess.

Moments ago when he had concentrated on her eyes, he had seen not simply virginal mortification, but also primal fear in their depths. The realization had clenched his heart. He didn't want her afraid; he wanted her to understand that he would never force her into any intimate act.

He wanted a wildcat, not a frightened doe.

So, he had feigned contrition to earn her cooperation; letting her gain her mental footing. But, that did not mean they were finish with each other, not by a long shot.

Before she could step beyond arms reach, he took her elbow. She half turned, her eyes resting first on his gently restraining grip, then on his face. She raised, a now eerily familiar, eyebrow.

He nodded to the ballroom in response. A violin scratched a warning that the night's waltz was about to commence. His smile reappeared.

"My dance I believe."

Blair's astonishment was clear, crystal clear, "Your Grace," she began with exaggerated patience, "Mayhap you confused my acceptance of your apology. I consider my association with you ended and your inability to govern your animal spirits forgotten. Do you comprehend?" Blair finished her speech with a twist of her elbow to gain her freedom.

There was his wildcat.

Charles caught her wrist and tucked it into his curved elbow, covering her hand with his own. "Allow me to escort you back to the ballroom."

"Yes, I can only imagine what could conspire if I was left unaccompanied. I could be waylaid by a rogue with every intention of seducing me for instance." She sarcastically inserted.

She harumped when he made no response to her goad except the appreciative flicker she caught in his eyes.

As long as he disengaged once they gained the ballroom, Blair ruminated, she would placate his misplaced (and most assuredly mottled) sense of chivalry. Anything to relieve her of his presence. Just having him so near was playing havoc with her equanimity. She wondered if she looked a sight. Her lips felt puffy and her nerves had yet to stop straining.

They strolled the short distance in silence. The bustling, glittery ocean of humanity that assailed them was a jarring contrast to the deep, secluded twilight. Charles towed her over the threshold, keeping her close.

Blair opened her mouth to offer perfunctory gratitude for his attendance, but the words became a huff of surprise. She abruptly found herself pulled into his solid embrace. His left hand obtained her right in a sure clasp, his right hand was a heavy, burning mass at her waist. Reflexively, she positioned her left hand on his muscled shoulder.

His eyes flashed with bedeviled success as he swirled her into the collection of twirling couples littering the dance floor.

He'd tricked her!

She had underestimate his cunning and his resolve. She recognize her failure to appreciate, but it did nothing to dampen her fury.

_What an arrogant, insolent, ill-mannered scoundrel! _

Her temper was close to boiling over when he forced her nearer through a turn, "Try not to look like you've just swallowed lye, sweeting. There are quite a few people observing. I would hate for you to make a spectacle."

Expression full of impishness, he was taunting her to do just that: make a spectacle of them. She refused to rise to the bait.

Praying for patience, Blair endeavored to focus on some other matter, anything to coerce her glowering features to relax. In doing so, she belatedly recognized what an excellent dancer the duke turned out to be.

Definitely graceful, Charles had an economy of movement that made each step appear unforced and effortless. He, unsurprisingly, took a strong lead, ensuring his partner would never have the opportunity to falter. His whiskey warm eyes rarely left her face, he appeared to be enthralled by her countenance, every feature, every flick of emotion. More simply, he seemed to be spellbound by _her_.

Blair definitely didn't know what to surmise from that observation. Men were never captivated by her, that honor always went to Serena.

How she wished Serena was here! Serena who was always so vivacious, always game to flirt and engage. Blair had forever envied her cousin's manner with men, she made them seem so easy to manage.

But, concerning the Duke of Bass, she had her doubts about her cousin's ability to handle him. Truly, he seemed only half tame. His inconspicuously powerful body traveled with acute assuredness laced liberally with sensuality. Suppressed beneath the thin veneer of elegance, resided the animus of a warrior. Born of nobility, he came from a long line of conquerors and rulers. Those that were bred to be ruthless.

Mysteriously, however, she felt shielded and snug in his hold. As if he would use every ounce of his extensive influence and sway to protect her, like he would go to the ends of the earth to keep her out of harms way.

Her toes were definitely safe with him.

How could she feel secure with a man that was so dangerous? Nothing added up. Regardless of the sense it did or not make, his hand felt wonderfully right locked with hers.

Blair was sinking once more into his magic. She could not find a way to resurface. He was too dominate, his charms too limitless. Letting herself be swept away was extremely easy. She longed to kiss him one more time. All right, maybe a dozen times. Fine, enough times to sate this yearning, one he alone inspired and one, she feared, he alone could satisfy.

"Much improved. Beware though, my lady, now the multitudes may believe that you actually enjoy my company." Charles pronounced when he witnessed her softening features.

All at once, she was annoyed again, her satisfaction with the waltz completely undone.

_How dare he? _

He had no right to twist her up in knots and whip away her wits. Her acquaintance with this man did not even add up to three hours, but already he had forced her hand multiple times. He'd charmed her mother into a twittering school girl, stolen a highly improper kiss and whirled her into an outwardly bland (inwardly any but) dance. He had controlled every interaction, each conversation.

Being in control was not a situation women found themselves in often. Women were physically weaker, socially inferior and legally powerless. Blair felt the injustice constantly, seen too many ladies, like her Aunt Lily, suffer in an unbalanced society. That was why love in marriage was so imperative. How else could she secure equal footing?

She'd be damned if she gave another iota of satisfaction to this cad. He would never love her, he probably didn't have it in him. Using the only ammunition she possessed, Blair endeavored to quell her expounding infatuation with him.

To aid her undertaking she began to internally chant what she knew to be true.

_He will never love you. He will never love you. He will never love you. _

Charles scrutinized her in wonder. Where had her mind gone to this time? He had seen the fire flare in her eyes and the slight pinching at the corners of her mouth. Obviously, she had not had a sanguine reaction to his comments. Provoking her was too delightful. He could not help himself.

Now though, the spark was gone. She was dancing passively, automatically, worse- detached and dispassionate. The mask had come over her expression quite firmly. Charles felt a tug of something- remorse?- for his high-handedness.

He'd seen past her courteous camouflage when the rest of the ballroom had accepted it. Now it was being used to keep him at bay. The bleakness he glimpsed in her eyes as she stared past him cut into his gut like nothing before ever had. He attempted to produce a glib remark or opinion to snap her out of her social disguise. But for the first time in so long, Charles Westwick, the Duke of Bass couldn't smooth a situation over. He felt something akin to regret develop within him.

The music drew to an end. Blair sunk into her curtsey. Before he could even straighten from his bow, she calmly walked away.

No farewell, no backward glance.

Charles fought his newly acquired possessiveness. The domineering instinct shouted for him to pull her back out to the garden and rile her again. To feel her melt, make her burn. Instead, unable to keep the scowl from his face, he watched as she blended with the crowd and was gone.


	7. Chapter 7

Author's Note: Thanks again for your kind reviews! I love to hear from you all!

Again, there might be a delay in the next posting...

I am leaving for vacation soon and my days are full! I am going on a cruise so- no internet :( ahhh!

Thanks and enjoy! xoxo

_

* * *

_

_Interestingly enough, Lady Blair was spotted riding in the park at an unthinkable hour of seven in the morning directly following the Montrose ball. While this might show a eccentricity for horses or fresh air, this author believes it was the company that roused Lady B her so soon from her bed._

_For none other than the splendidly wicked Duke of Bass joined the lady for her morning exercise. If the sunrise jaunt were an everyday occurrence for the Duke, young ladies would suddenly swarm the park and declare themselves early risers. Which leads this author to another conclusion, my dear readers, this meeting must have been more than mere happenstance. _

_Maybe the Duke like the ones who play hard to get..._

* * *

After escaping the ball and the concurrent restless night, Blair turned her horse onto Rotten Row at a very unfashionably early hour. She trotted Hepburn, her chestnut Arabian to the vacant paths along Hyde Park. The mare responded to the open area, fidgeting in anticipation of a run.

Blair easily quieted the horse with an expertise derived of practice, patience and competence.

"You need to run as much as I do, don't you girl?" Blair whispered to Hepburn in commiseration. The horse dipped her head as though in assent with the sentiment. Blair smiled in response.

One final glance around the quarter verified that she was as unobserved as she could be in a public park. She loosened the reigns and Hepburn took off smoothly. Blair bent low as the speed increased. The powerful, steady rhythm of hooves beating the earth calmed her as nothing else could.

It was times like these that she felt the most like herself.

She nearly felt free.

The park flew by in a flashing blur of greens and browns, the horse's gait swallowing up the ground. It was an escape, albeit a small one, from the inner turmoil of last night.

All too soon, the lane narrowed and would soon diverge back to more populated grounds. How she longed for the country, if only for the lack of restrictions. Blair loved the society whirl, town was exciting, diverting. But, the country offered wide open space she could get lost in. She could ride hell for leather with no one the wiser.

Blair reigned in her mare effortlessly, the horse slowed, great breaths puffing from its nostrils. Blair was a little breathless herself, her heartbeat increased from exertion.

"That's a good girl." Blair cooed in praise. Her mind on her horse, she never heard the second rider approach.

"You're a very accomplished rider. But, I would expect nothing less." Charles stated from atop his powerful black stallion as he positioned himself at her side.

Blair felt immediate resentment having the duke disrupt her morning run. "Thank you, Your Grace." She replied coolly, gathering her perturbation around her like shell.

She turned Hepburn and encouraged her into a trot. Much to her dismay, but not to her surprise, the duke followed.

"Who taught you to ride?" Charles inquired, matching his horses gait to hers.

"My father." Blair answered succinctly, her eyes never leaving a distant point on the horizon.

"How very fortunate. Some young ladies are never taught how to properly handle a mount."

With unconcealed impassivity she stated, "I am aware of my good fortune."

Charles wondered if talking to a block of ice would have been more productive. Fashionably turned out in a midnight blue riding habit with a matching cap that sported a jaunty plume, she was a fetching sight in the morning sunlight. She also looked youthful and fit, cheeks flushed from a combination of her ride and the biting wind.

She wasn't going to make this easy on him, he thought sourly. But, she deserved something from him that he had never given another woman, not genuinely at least. Bracing himself as though an epic battle were nigh, he engaged her once more.

"Lady Blair," he began, dreading the coming words. "I seem to be forever apologizing to you, but I would ask for your indulgence for a few moments."

She halted her mount, her gloved hand idly stroking the beast's neck. Charles pondered how those hands would feel on his uncovered skin. Her petite frame writhing beneath his as he saw to her pleasure. Her gripping and straining for release. Then, ever so slowly, he would…

Charles cleared his throat and looked into her impatient eyes.

"You perceive me all ears, as they say." She prompted.

Charles gave her a short nod, clearing his throat one more time, he began, "I would like to render an apology for my high handedness at the ball. I know I put you in an untenable position and I would like to convey my sincerest regrets for my behavior. My rationalization is the same as I stated last night, I found it impossible to let you go without a dance. So, I beg your pardon and hope we can begin anew." There was naked sincerity in his tone.

Blair had trusted it once before and he had maneuvered her to his advantage. She was torn between the need to hold on to her grudge (and her distance) and the desire to be the bigger person, to show him that she was mature where he was purely childish. Obviously, she had to make a choice and neither option was agreeable.

Realizing the power he had bestowed, she took her time scrutinizing him. He did not seem like a man that apologized much. In fact, the words seemed to have been wrung from him against his will. And with that observation she saw a portion of herself.

Blair knew what determination could turn her into. She could be obstinate and unbending. And God help anyone who got in her way. Being female, she had to be more clever about her manipulation. But, if she were a man, she would have acted along the same lines.

She smiled wryly, finding herself with a very grudging respect for the duke's tactics. She just loathed that they had been turned on her.

While compromise was not her forte, she reflected it was her best course of action.

"I accept your apology, Your Grace. But as I see no reason for our continued acquaintance, as _I_ stated last night," she emphasized in an echo of his words, "I believe this will not be a new beginning but rather the conclusion." Her speech was smooth, giving the words weight without providing them true emotion.

Charles was used to her dismissals by now. This was the second, no third, that she had given him in their ten hours of contact.

He assessed her again, wondering how to stir her up, how to set her off balance. Needing to bend her slightly so he could insinuate himself in her company.

Honesty.

Not his specialty with women, to be sure, but what use would it be denying his real motivations? She would have to be apprised of his desires sometime. Poetry and pretty words could come later. Later he would tell her that he had dreamed of her lips, like dewey pink peonies with the same petal softness. That the heat of their moonlight kiss had not cooled in the harsh light of day. That the honeyed brown of her eyes was the most intensely appealing of all hues. He could cajole her with sweet nothings after this hurdle was cleared.

"My lady," he began, "What if I told you that was unacceptable to me? What if I don't want to stay away from you?"

Charles' eyes were drawn to the 'o' her mouth had become at his words, then the slight furrowing of her brows.

Thoughts rushed and collided in Blair's brain. As with most things about the duke, she was of two minds. It was thrilling, flattering and oddly delectable to be pursued by a man who could have anyone. But, it was similarly unnerving and in direct opposition to her goal of finding a love match.

Also, she didn't trust him. Would that come later? Did she even want to trust him? Did he deserve it?

A dozen responses flitted through her, some cutting others as demeaning as a girlish giggle. So, she settled on the most pressing question.

"Why?"

Charles gave a half smile, "Do you always answer a question with a question?"

"Do you always evade answering?" She retorted, not budging an inch.

Charles gave a snort of amusement at her comment. Apparently she did answer one question with another.

Honesty, he reminded himself. He smiled inwardly, he would give her the most bald truth he could. He couldn't wait for her reaction.

"I want you." He stated in a gruffly seductive voice, his molten eyes hotly gazing into hers, "You fascinate me."

"Oh." She said softly, it was all she could manage to utter in the circumstances.

She was hypnotized again. Lost to the rest of the world in his presence. A shiver raced over her body. He looked warm and cozy in his black multi-caped greatcoat, even though it was a nippy mid March morning. She wondered if he would be as hot to the touch as he seemed. If the rest of his skin burned like his lips had. If his fingers were as clever and opportunistic as his tongue was. If…

"M'lady! M'lady!"

The bubble burst as one of Cyrus' grooms rode up beside them.

"Excuse me intrudin' m'lady, but the baroness bid me find ye and deliver ye 'ome. The baroness says yer due to be late if ye don't 'urry."

"Of course. Time must have gotten away from me, Crowley, thank you. If you will excuse us, Your Grace, I'll bid you good day."

Charles inclined his head as the groom differentially tugged on his forelock.

"Good day, Lady Blair." He tendered as she galloped away, "I'll see you soon." Charles continued to himself as he watched her figure dwindle in the distance.


	8. Chapter 8

Author's note:

Hello all! Sorry about the long absence :( Vacation was invigorating yet tiring, as some holidays are.

The next few chapters were penned on deck of my cruise ship bound for St. Thomas USVI and Puerto Rico.

I hope you like it and updates (fingers crossed) will be more timely in the future.

Tell me what you think! xoxo

* * *

He had done it again!

The damnable Duke of Bass had stormed in and commandeered her wits… Again!

Throughout her ride home and being tongue blistered by her mother.

Through the changing of her riding habit into her morning gown.

Then, through the carriage ride to Bond Street and the milliners, modistes, and glove makers .

She could only concentrate on one subject, more to the point one man, Duke Bass.

She relived his stilted apology and her responding set down. That alone was enough to keep her mind occupied for hours at least. But then, she would let herself remember his highly inappropriate, excruciatingly stunning question…

_What if I don't want to stay away from you?_

Cue the warning bells!

That was adequate to divert her attention for a week, maybe two to be safe.

And above all else was his final comment…

_I want you. You fascinate me._

Blair needed a solid week to wrap her head around that one. Men of her acquaintance did not speak to a lady of breeding in such a manner. Not to her anyway, she was sure as certain of that! It would have been the height of insolence if it wasn't so invigoratingly frank.

There had been no guile in his gaze nor in his tone. He said that she fascinated him. She wanted to blurt out that the feeling was mutual. But, naturally, she had been so staggered by his bluntness she had managed nothing more than an inarticulate "Oh".

That surely had impressed him. He could regale her with droll, roguish commentary and she could not even muster a coherent sentence.

Not even a phrase or a clause.

Clearly her sparkling repartee had captured him. But…

What did she care? It was not as if she wanted to see him again.

The second the thought occurred, she knew it to be a terrible falsehood.

Great! Now he had transformed her into a confused, blithering liar!

She did want to see more of him, Blair finally admitted, a lot more. His kiss had turned her safe, placid world on its ear. His skillful lips had awakened a dormant portion of herself, one she hadn't recognized before. She felt a delightful shiver at the mere remembrance. With looks of a fallen angel and the deep resonance of his voice he could give Lucifer himself a run for his money.

_I want you. You fascinate me._

What exactly did he want her for, she wondered. Well, of course she knew what he proposed in the academic sense. He wanted her in his bed. But, being gently reared as she was, she was woefully uneducated as to the particulars. The Duke seemed apt enough to teach her though. If it was a quarter as pleasurable as his kiss, she would be a devoted pupil.

As if the act of coupling was not enough to have her whirling, the circumstances of such an endeavor would.

Was he envisioning a dalliance?

The answer came to her immediately. No. Even if he was a rake through and through he would never go so far as to bed the unmarried daughter of an earl and take her for a mistress.

Right?

Men of his ilk usually picked off easy prey, unattended married ladies and lonely widows were their game of choice. Light skirts and other members of the demimonde were also popular quarry.

Wait… had she not hear some gossip about him wife hunting this season? Sweet Christ! Did he want to marry her? That was almost more shocking than being his mistress.

However… _Her Grace, The Duchess of Bass_.

The thought was intriguing. If she were the Blair of two years past, she would have jumped at the notion. He was every tonnish girls', or more likely their mother's, dream: handsome, rich and the head of a vast duchy. What more could a lady want? Her old self niggled at her until she was slightly tempted to make a run at him.

But, no, no, no. How could she ever have an everyday life with him? He was so wicked, sinful. It was in the way he moved, urbane yet predatory. And the way he spoke made the listener want to lean in closer to hear all his confidences, as if he held the power to lure them in.

Blair could never envision him sitting in a parlor taking tea while she embroidered. Or him reading the news sheets in the breakfast room while she browsed fashion plates. What she _could _imagine is his dark head lowering to her neck to taste the skin as his hands skimmed her back. And the way his breath would feel against her ear as he whispered indecent, but oh so tantalizing, suggestions.

What was she thinking?

Lack of sleep must be the culprit. She was terribly exhausted after her dolefully inadequate night's rest. It was the only explanation for her errant thoughts.

He had piqued her curiosity and her overactive, rebellious imagination had gone hideously awry.

As a concession, she was willing to own up to one truth: The Duke of Bass was interesting.

But, then her brain started supplementing 'interesting' with words like, 'enticing', 'enthralling', 'irresistible' and (most damning of all) 'irrepressibly sexy'.

Her mutinous inner voice aside, she had to be rational. If he wanted a dalliance she would obviously refuse, perhaps she might even slap him for good measure. Her lips twitched at the vision.

And if he wanted marriage…

What then?

No answer came to her, she was anomalously blank.

It was not as though she had to decide today, Blair resolved. He hadn't made any of his intentions, lascivious or honorable, clear. In spite of that, simply sitting around, waiting for him to reveal said intentions went against every Blair-like impulse she owned. She was not one to allow things to happen, she made them happen.

So, she would feel him out, attempt to unveil his motives and subsequently make her decision. At the same time, she had to continue looking for other marriage prospects. She could not forget her aim for this Season, she wanted to find a man to love. Duke Bass was not what one would call a 'safe bet'. Most likely his attentions would dissolve as quickly as they had manifested.

The thought should have been some kind of comfort, but instead, the knowledge felt like a leaden weight in her stomach.

* * *

Sitting behind the solid oak desk in his study, toying with a silver wax seal, Charles had come to a single conclusion.

Lady Blair was a conundrum.

She could be cold as January icicles and hotter than August sunshine.

_A woman for all seasons_, Charles ruminated with a grin.

At the end of last night's ball, he had left dually satisfied and aggravated. He had met his future duchess of that he knew beyond doubt. But the contrary female had a vast array of shields he would have to remove. Any other woman he could propose on the morrow and be wed in a trice. Not Lady Blair, however.

She was not shy about speaking her mind, yet she seemed more than skittish of physical contact. Were all virgins so nervous? While with another lady this would be a non-issue, Charles was determined to have _much_ more physical contact with her in the coming months.

Slowly, he would have to ease her in slowly. She would become remarkably comfortable to his touch. It was not, thank heavens, a futile endeavor. He experienced first hand how reactive she could be. How she had swayed into him, let him have his fill and take his time.

Superb responsiveness.

His musings turned even more erotic. God, how he wanted her. Now he was fully aroused just wondering if her breasts were as round and firm as they had felt pressed against his chest. If her waist was as tiny as it had appeared or if her corset hid a more lustful curve. If he had his way, he would know all those answers in little time.

But for now, the dreaded courting. All the rituals and pleasantries he despised would be his burden until he could claim her. More endless rounds of balls and dinners, musicale evenings and parlor games. The reality left a sour taste in his mouth. He could only behave civilly for so long before he went demented.

He was better acquainted with the seeder side of London. The gambling hells, men's clubs, racetracks and bordellos. But all the allure of those haunts of earthly pleasure had sufficiently dissipated in recent times. He had enough money, more than enough so he had little use for gaming for profit. He'd had grown weary of his male companions, the ones who had little more than horses and whores on the brain. Nate was the singular friend he claimed as his. Nate knew his secrets, understood his past.

And the women. He loved women with their never ending variety and promise of release, escape. Yet, of late, they too lost their luster, simply blending together. The blonds and redheads, the diminutive with the statuesque , the willowy and the voluptuous.

The upper class called such an affliction ennui. Charles called it damned irritating.

All the debauchery had become for all intents and purposes, his identity, his focus. But his father was long dead. There was no one left to infuriate, and even if it was a lost cause, no one left to please. The motives behind his wild ways had died with his father, now the enjoyment too was gone.

Charles was at loose ends, he needed a new diversion. Lady Blair would do nicely. She held his attention without effort, She would surely reset his clock so to speak. He would marry her, indulge for a time, then be back to normal.

Even as the thought came to him, he doubted its validity. Blair was not a woman a man forgot. She was the treasure that a man would hold near always. It was a disquieting revelation.

The ability to ensnare was apparent in her gingerbread eyes, in her quick wit and bubbling laugh. She could overpower his resolve to remain distance but amiable. It was a touch frightening. Not enough to dissuade him, not by a long shot.

She would belong to him, body and soul. He would just ensure that the transaction was one sided. He would woo, capture, enjoy, then forget. He would make certain they produced an heir, his favorite part by far. Maybe an heir for him and a daughter for her. One of each would do nicely. A little chestnut haired hellion with deep brown eyes and dimples. And, of course, an abundance of curls, just like her mother.


	9. Chapter 9

Author's Note: Hey all! Oh how I have missed updating :) Mostly because I get such thoughful reviews from my extremely wonderful readers :D

This is a very short chapter. You have my solemn vow that the next one will be long and involved. But I thought of this and couldn't resist.

I also took a writers liberty and made Dorota English- she speaks with a cockney accent which would have been rather commonplace for servants back then.

Of course I welcome all comments, I beg for them actually, I plead upon request only though ;)

Thanks again! xoxo

* * *

"Ouch!"

"None of that Miss Blair. If you'd quit that squirmin' it wouldn't 'urt." Dorota, Blair's ladies maid, chastised as she tugged another section of hair into place.

"If you would hurry, I would have no reason to squirm." Blair defended, doing her best to remain motionless.

Dorota shook her head in exasperation, having been with Blair since infancy, she was accustomed to her impatience. She would always be 'Miss Blair' to Dorota, no matter how old she was or what title she gained.

"Did ya see the beautiful roses that viscount sent? Lovely, I say. Full bloomin' roses in March must've cost a right pretty penny." the maid remarked, trying to take her charge's mind off her enforced inactivity.

Blair played idly with a silver backed brush from her dressing table as she spoke, "You know I do not prefer roses."

"Well, a picky 'un you are, an' correctly so. There was 'nother bouquet down there, lilies I think. Did ya even look?"

Blair rolled her eyes, "I was more than fully occupied today."

Her memory supplied the duke's face in her mind, then his voice, then his smell…

"Right ya are, yer lady mother 'ad ya shoppin' all day." Dorota contributed.

Blair blushed, realizing she had barely recalled the never-ending buying frenzy her mother had dragged her on.

"You should be lookin' 'fore dinner." Her maid instructed, "Jus' so ya know which gents to snuggle up to tonight."

"Dorota!" Blair reproved in an laughing tone.

The maid appeared unrepentant, "If a man be sendin' ya flowers it shows he already is thinking' of ya. My way of reasonin' he would the better gent."

Blair frowned a little, but saw the point Dorota was trying convey, "How many deliveries were there? Two, three?" She tried to remain aloof so her servant wouldn't guess at the hopefulness inside her.

It proved a useless endeavor, Dorota knew here too well and smiled kindly as she said, "Least half a dozen. But then, I did stop keepin' track 'round midday."

"Half a dozen?" Blair exclaimed, suddenly as eager as a kid on Christmas morning.

"Ummhmm." Dorota confirmed, "One was a mite different than the others though, you tell me after you see."

"Hurry up then!" Blair resumed her earlier wriggling, too excited to act the dignified lady for a second more.

"If I be in a 'urry your hair's gonna be fallin' out its pins. I won't 'ave you shamin' me at the dinner table."

"Fine, then do what you must." Blair spoke with a martyred air.

Half dozen nosegays? Now there was a surprise. Blair wondered who the might be from. Perhaps it was just a courtesy from the gentlemen she danced with last night. Men sometimes sent an arrangement to complete their duty and pay their respects.

Without meaning to and with no warning (an increasingly hazardous tendency), Blair's musings drifted to the Duke of Bass.

Did _he_ send her flowers?

She was loathed to admit that she craved his attentions. She had simply been out of society too long and was still readjusting. Wanting a man's notice was no crime, as long as it went no further; attendance and contact were very separate things. If she kept a buffer, physical and emotional, between them all would be well.

She had liked the duke's friend, the marquess. He was clearly pleasant and very decorous. Plus, there was that twinkle of madcap spirit in his eyes which made him all the more likeable.

_He could love me_, Blair thought.

He would be attentive, gentle and amiable. He would be an open book. There were no locked rooms in his house, no secret pains or reserves.

Conversely, the Duke of Bass had entire wings of bolted, barred and bricked corridors. A woman could spend a lifetime attempting to puzzle out the intricacies of his psyche. Perhaps that was the inducement, the overpowering need, she experienced merely to understand an enigma.

Blair was continually far too inquisitive for her own good. She needed to know _everything_. That hunger for information had driven her governess to distraction. It was that trait that encouraged her father to teach her more than he should have. From childhood into early adulthood she had not altered a jot.

Each snippet of knowledge made her more invincible somehow, maybe just more relevant. Accordingly, from that point of view, the problem of her preoccupation with a certain nobleman was due to her nature instead of his.

No. Better that it was him. It made everything more convenient.

"All done, Miss Blair. Quite pretty if I do be sayin' so me self." Dorota self-congratulated.

"Finally." Blair mumbled to herself, however the look her maid gave said that she had heard.

"Now for yer gown. Yer mother chose the rose satin for the soiree." Dorota shook out the dress that had already been pressed on the baroness' orders.

Blair's expression turned mulish, "I detest it when she does that."

"But yer mother is one o' the most fashion'ble ladies in the ton, Miss Blair. Ya should be proud to be wearin' 'er selections." Dorota continued to bustle around the bedroom gathering all of her mistress's required garments.

"Of course." Blair offered mindlessly.

At least when she was married she would be free to pick a blasted gown on her own.

A quarter hour later, Blair had been tugged, laced and fastened into her mother's choice of attire. She flew down the grand staircase as fast as her slipper clad feet would carry her. But, abruptly adopted a more measured pace when she spied Hudson, Cyrus' butler, lurking near by. As with most other aristocratic majordomos, Hudson had a solemn mien and an innate intolerance for undignified behavior.

"Good day, my lady." He articulated with a bow.

"Likewise, Hudson. Dorota notified me that I received some deliveries this morning."

"Indeed, my lady. I took the liberty of placing them in the morning room for you inspection." Hudson bowed again and withdrew from the hall.

Blair counted to three then took off like a shot toward the morning room. The first thing that assailed her was the scent, heady and floral. But it was the sight that stopped her dead. Not a mere six bunches of flowers, but well over a dozen. There were small posies of roses, three in all, one of daffodils and another of lilies.

But they were easily overwhelmed by a multitude of identical arrangements: peonies, bright pink and blooming, interspersed with sprigs of lavender and snowdrops. It was the most original and delightful array Blair had ever seen, let alone been given.

Without glancing at one of the attached note cards, Blair knew with absolute certainty that every last one of the remarkable creations were the work of the Duke.

She walked to one of the vases and touched her fingertips to the bright blossom, then leaned down to inhale the sweet scent.

How had he known?

Hardly anyone else knew peonies were her favorite flower. Dorota did, her father had, Serena might. She felt herself smile as she touched a stem of lavender, closed her eyes and breathed in more deeply.

_You smell like lavender… I wonder…_

Blair could nearly feel his lips descend, shivering in reaction. She relived the glorious reminiscence of his stolen kiss until she was warm and dreamy.

It was of no account really. Just because she liked the caress of his hands and the deep, polished tones of his voice and the way his hair felt running through her fingers…

She shook herself suddenly. Where was she? Right! Just because she liked those aspects meant nothing.

Blair skated her fingers from one bouquet to another, circling the room in contemplation. She shook her head again, this time in confused vexation.

Taking a sprig of lavender from one of the arrangements, she crushed the fragile buds, releasing her favorite fragrance.

She let the ruined flower fall to the table and dabbed her perfumed fingers behind her ears.

What was she going to do about him?


	10. Chapter 10

Author's Note: Hey All!

How are my wonderful readers? Good I hope! Thanks for your wonderful reviews! It makes me want to get the next chpts to you as quickly as possible :)

Enjoy and thanks again! xoxo

_

* * *

_

_The Season is starting to gain momentum, so you know what that means dear readers, scandal can not be far behind…_

_The Covington Soirée was not only well attended, but also the perfect venue for scintillating tittle-tattle. The architect must have had a rake in his ear when creating Covington Terrace: secluded alcoves, shaded corners, easily accessed corridors leading to darkened, deserted parlors. _

_And speaking of…_

_…Four note-worthy guests went missing simultaneously: The hostess, Lady Georgina Covington (nee Sparks), Lt. Carter Baizen, Lady Blair Waldorf and the Duke of Bass. What combinations do you imagine?…_

_…While Lady Covington is only two years married to Earl Covington, she was spotted in obvious flirtation with a host of gentlemen including Lt. Baizen who is cutting his own swath through the young ladies this Season. And why ever not? He is starkly handsome in his red uniform and charming to boot. Even Lady Blair appeared charmed when she and the aforementioned gentleman were glimpsed conversing…_

_…While conjecture that Duke Bass is looking to take a lady to wife is still running rampant, the Duke himself seemed content to stick to the fringes tonight. It leaves this lady wondering-_

_Who else was loitering in the shadows?…_

_Society Pages 20 March 1817_

* * *

The Covington Soirée was deemed an 'intimate affair', if one considered almost two hundred guests 'intimate'. However, in ton standard it was labeled as such.

The elegant townhouse was peculiar in manner with its inexplicable juts and recesses sprinkled throughout the circuit of rooms. The golden chandeliers were situated so the majority of the space was brightly illuminated, yet the niches and pillars were shrouded in intriguing dimness. Curved walls hid curiously placed hallways, while a veritable forest of potted plants and trees lent precious privacy and cover for hasty exits and entrances.

For all its eccentricities, the house was still grand and well appointed. It, in a way, reflected the nature of its owner. Earl Covington was a stern man of middling years. His face was one of ordinary patrician features, neither inspiring nor off putting. He was thickening around the waist line and his hair was a mixture of dirt brown and grey that was thinning on top.

His true love was not Lady Covington, as a more romantically minded person might assume, but his rare art collections. He had spent decades acquiring select pieces to accent his current holdings, each with a purpose and a place. Much in the same way he acquired his wife. Formerly Miss Georgina Sparks, Lady Covington had been carefully harvested from the crop of schoolroom misses. She had adequate beauty and astuteness, came from good blood and possessed a sizable dowry.

What she did not possess was a title, being the granddaughter of a viscount. So, at the age of nineteen, Georgina traded 'Miss' for 'Lady' and got a husband more than twice her age in the bargain. While some might pity the young woman, Georgina had gained what she wanted: a position, wealth and influence.

Earl Covington regarded his wife as if she were nothing more than one of his marble statues that resided on the mantle. Which was most amenable to Countess Covington who took his indifference as carte blanche to entertain a string of lovers. She also appeared to lack discernment, choosing variety over quality; from footmen and grooms to barons and dukes.

She favored playing games and manipulating her lovers more than the actual love play. Still, men swarmed to her bed, pulled in by her sexual confidence and experience.

With the party in full swing, Georgina swept around the assemblage respectfully acknowledging her guests. Her red satin and lace ball gown was one shade from garish and the décolletage a half inch from indecent.

Charles and Nate stood at the edge of the music room near a conveniently positioned nook watching the Countess in action. Her cat like gaze was locked sidelong on a potential conquest. Her intentions could not have been more obvious to her two onlookers if she had printed them in the morning paper.

"It is like watching a carriage accident, I want to look away but I can't." Nate observed with a shake of his head.

Charles nodded in affirmation, his lips twitching at Nate's phrasing.

"You've had her if I am not mistaken." Nate commented, still watching Georgina.

"One of the many mistakes I have racked up through the years." Charles responded before partaking of his brandy.

"She must have been…" Nate paused, gesturing in the air to summon the appropriate term, "…a handful."

Charles snorted, "A shovelful more the like."

Nate grinned as he asked, "Did it end cordially?"

"Nothing with Georgina ever ends cordially."

The remark drew a chuckle from the Marquess before he quaffed a mouthful of his own libation. He watched Charles, noting that his friend's interest kept straying to the front foyer every few seconds.

"Looking for someone?" Nate asked nonchalantly.

Charles turn to his attention from the door to his comrade and looked his askance.

"Tough not to notice old chap, you seem preoccupied with new arrivals. I was just wondering who warrants your consideration these days."

"A lady." Charles responded with laconic apathy.

"That certainly narrows the field. A new amour or something of the more respectable variety?"

"Hopefully both." The duke rejoined with an irritatingly enigmatic smile.

Nate gave a wry smile in return, "Happy hunting to you then." He clapped Charles on the shoulder and then walked away to mingle.

Charles fully focused on the crowd of visitors, not needing to give half an ear to Nate any longer. His expression, outwardly bland, hid his impatient anticipation.

She was attending tonight.

His sources had assured him that her mother had accepted the Covington's invitation over a week ago.

Charles had to force himself to remain relaxed while his body complained of excess energy, not to mention pent up sexual frustration.

He supposed he could have eased his ache with one of the ladies who dispatched him scented letters with elegant feminine entreaties for his company. Or more conveniently with a choice piece from one of the high class brothels that knew him by name. He most likely should have done. But his Lady Blair induced malady had not dissipated a whit. He still wanted her, only her, with an unrestrained ferocity.

Unexpectedly, an inquisitive female hand roamed from his shoulder, down his spine to the small of his back. Apprehension slithered in its wake.

"Good eve, Your Grace." The female purred.

"Lady Covington." Charles intoned, grasping her wanton hand before it could continue its quest.

"Is it simply me or are the pickings slim tonight? I was hoping for a more enticing buffet." She surveyed the room, especially the males, in a sweep before looking up at him through her lashes.

Charles nearly agreed and included her in that company. But his eyes strayed to the foyer and _she_ appeared, delightfully sheathed in rose satin. She was elegant without thought, showcasing her beauty delicately, subtly. Georgina, by contrast, appeared a Covet Garden trollop.

The countess followed Charles's gaze, "Oh really, Charles. I did not peg you a man with a predilection for the starry eyed variety."

She paused for his response. When it appeared that none was forthcoming, she continued, "Sure, she has that wholesome, untarnished appeal. Although, an innocent like her would have trouble keeping apace with your appetites." Her hand strayed to the back on his thigh, slowly moving around to the front.

Charles, once again, drew her appendage from his person then threw her a warning glance.

"We had our come out together." She persisted without missing a beat, "A spoiled and materialistic simpleton was always my understanding."

"You must have gotten on well then." Charles remarked.

The glower she bestowed upon him was black, promising retribution. Yet, before she could offer him a incisive retort, the Duke turned from her.

"Perhaps you could find a stable boy to entertain you tonight if you are finding the upper crust so lackluster." He threw over his shoulder as he strode away.

Georgina stood with her fists clenched in impotent fury with her eyes burning into his retreating back. Almost instantly, she relaxed. Her eyes flickered to the brunette in the entry, a very untrustworthy smile forming on her rouged lips.

* * *

Blair walked into the soirée with her mask firmly in place. Her movements were confident, her deportment impeccable. Even if on the inside she was a bundle of nerves. She scrutinized the company with cool respectfulness, nodding to those with whom she had an association as she passed.

This was an arena she was born to and trained for, like any lady of quality she had skill and preparation to resource at will.

Her inner demeanor was hardly so sanguine.

Would he be here?

Did she want him to be?

Yes and Yes.

Pitiful! She had just seen him this morning and then received his extravagant floral displays this afternoon. While she privately adored them, publicly she was better off claiming impassivity. He needn't be informed of her delight.

The Baron excused himself and Eleanor waved him off with a fond smile as he joined a group of his cronies. Mother and daughter made their way to a cluster of chaise lounges and settees occupied by Grande Dames. Blair made her curtsies and exchanged pleasantries with the ladies, who in all truth, ran the ton. After an appropriate interval, Blair very correctly bid them release her to the festivities. The ladies gave their permission with nods and half smiles.

A group of young misses and their admirers signaled for her to join them. She entered their circle and very naturally became its center. The girls were younger than she, a year or two. They looked to her to carry the bulk of the dialogue.

Blair had been something of a ringleader after her come out. Her cleverness and instinctive commanding nature had secured her that position. Having Serena, a diamond of the first water, by her side had only more thoroughly cinched her standing with the youthful crowd. Now however, she was on her own.

Serena had not written to Blair in over a fortnight. Normally, this would have worried Blair to no end. But, her cousin had explained that she, her mother and Eric were traveling to Scotland to visit friends before returning to London.

Another young woman, not likely more than seventeen, insinuated herself into their group, flirting shamelessly with all the bucks gathered. Blair took an immediate dislike to her. The girl had no tact and she dressed to attract a gentleman's eye. Her low cut bodice proclaimed her bid for notice. Blair thought her rather gauche and unrefined.

Then, she said the words that sealed her fate.

"I was led to believe that Miss Van Der Woodsen _had_ to go to Scotland for the season… for a few months at any rate." the unfortunate attention seeker whispered.

All around her, the others read the insinuation loud and clear: Serena was _enceinte_.

Blair saw red.

"Miss-, I do apologize, I do not recall your name." Blair interrupted with a sugar sweet voice.

"Miss Carr," The girl informed her, "Miss Rachel Carr."

"Delighted, I'm sure." Blair's smile matched her tone which she found nearly sickening pleasant, "'Tis your first season, is it not?

Miss Carr grinned in return, "Oh, indeed, I am new to the rounds and I reside for most of the year with my parents in Gloucestershire."

"Are you fond of the country?" She questioned further, coaxing the girl with an interested expression.

"Yes, indeed I do."

"That is a true relief for you." Blair replied cryptically as girl's smile turned inquiring. "I could not help but overhear _Miss_ Carr. Are you acquainted with _Lady_ Serena?" Blair's voice turned as cold as winter's frost.

Miss Carr looked around the circle, searching frantically for a rationale behind the sudden palpable tension, "No, Miss-"

She was swiftly cut off "_Lady." _Blair informed, "Lady Blair Waldorf. You were saying?"

"Uh… No, my lady, I cannot claim an acquaintance with Lady Serena." Miss Carr seemed to finally sense the spectrum of her peril and hung her head sheepishly.

The rest of the group had quieted to the point of eerie silence, hanging on every word to repeat to those regrettably not in attendance or within earshot.

"How odd." Blair stated with an air of mock befuddlement, "Then pray tell, how you came by this knowledge of my beloved cousin."

The girl was quickly turning ashen and swallowed against the lump in her throat with an perceptible gulp. "W-well… Uh… One c-can never remember the t-true source of such things." She predicated, stammering all the while.

Blair's smile deepened to one of utterly false understanding, "Indeed my dear, gossip assuredly takes on a life all its own."

Miss Carr let out a breath of relief, premature relief though it turned out to be.

"Why I daresay the ton grasps on to rumor like a drowning man to driftwood," Blair's expression turned thoughtful as she tapped one of her gloved fingers on her chin.

"Let us say, for argument's sake only of course, that I told someone that I met a newly presented girl who was inventing stories about a lady I hold very dear to me." Blair's voice hardened, unable to leash the violent emotions.

"A lady whose beauty and circumstances make her an easy mark for such specious lies. And the only purpose of this _girl's _claims was to further the conversation and afford her some consequence, no matter how little. I wonder what would become of this girl if I disclosed that."

She paused for effect before adding, "You _do_ like the country, didn't you say?"

The girl looked ready to throw herself at her tormentor's feet and beg for mercy.

Blair gave her no quarter, staring at her with icy disdain.

"I could not have bettered the sentiment if I tried." A smooth male voice granted, "Lt. Carter Baizen at your service, my lady."

He bowed deeply and offered his arm, "If I might be so bold to request that you accompany me about the room?"

Never one to turn down a proper dramatic exit, Blair threaded her arm through his and let him lead her away. The ladies looked positively green with envy that Lt. Baizen had given her his arm. The gentlemen looked at her with admiration and interest. Miss Carr did her best to slip away with the tatters of her dignity trailing behind her.

"Thank you." Blair stated to her escort as they walked from the group, "I do not believe I could have held my temper any longer."

The lieutenant looked vastly entertained by her confession, "That was you with your temper intact?"

"Undeniably. I am amazed I did not cause her physical harm." She divulged with a hint of regret. She looked ready to go back and finish the girl off.

"Your restraint was must admirable." He complimented on a chuckle.

She grinned in response and couldn't help but add, "You'll turn my head with such praise, sir."

Lt. Baizen looked at her with laughing eyes, but became more serious when he said, "Honestly though, that chit was out of line. She deserved a set-down."

Then, with his smile back in evidence, he continued, "Which you graciously provided."

Blair blushed at his words, her lips lifting at the corners. She tried to recall what she knew of this man as they ambled through a portrait gallery.

"Your are son of Baron Griffen, are you not?"

He nodded in affirmation, "Son but not heir. For I am a lowly third son." He confirmed with amused modesty.

She looked around at the portraits on the wall, all members of the Covington line no doubt, "Have you been fighting on the continent?"

"I am currently on leave, but yes. I bought a commission and joined the 71st." He said as they continued on to a drawing room filled with Chinese pottery.

She halted them beside an lovely Ming vase and turned to face him, "Is the military to your liking?"

He thought for a moment, apparently considering the idea for the first time, "Not in the stricter sense, but as a third son-"

"A lowly third son?" She interjected with a smirk.

"Right you are," He allowed, flashing his gleaming white teeth, "And as a _lowly _third son few options are available. And at the time fighting Boney seemed a more fitting occupation than the clergy."

"Probably more perilous as well."

"A debatable point, depending on the congregation."

Blair laughed at his easy charisma and droll tongue. He cut a dashing figure in his regulation red not to mention his strikingly blue eyes.

They resumed their promenade, pausing to admire more of the extensive finery displayed by their host. The conversation was warm, simple and entertaining, just like her attendant.

* * *

"An attractive couple, wouldn't you say?" Georgina whispered in Charles' ear as he visually stalked the pair in question.

"And what do you know of it?" He asked, slanting an accusatory stare toward her.

Lady Covington laid a hand against her half bared breast in a gesture of innocence, "I? What would make you think that I would have anything to do with it?"

"Because you and mischief are well acquainted." He replied straightforwardly.

Georgina tried her best to look affronted, but a flattered expression peeked through, "I am hostess here and I believe that putting the word in the ear of a guest is my duty. Come now, Your Grace." She admonished, tapping his forearm with her gold embossed fan.

Charles clenched his jaw and fought down his ire, "Exactly which word did you put in Baizen's ear?"

"Two actually: double dowry."

"And Baizen?"

Georgina flipped open her fan and hid her grin behind it in a practiced motion, "He appeared quite keen to get to know her more intimately."

Charles scowled forcefully, grabbing her fan wielding wrist in a painful vice, "Leave it alone, Georgina, or you will find yourself in possession of yet another enemy."

Georgina broke free when he loosened his hold, "Enemies I can handle, they are far less inconvenient than friends."

She made to leave, but revolved to confront him again, "Besides, you are not afraid of a little healthy competition, are you?"


	11. Chapter 11

Author's Note: Hey All! I have missed you and have missed updating.

Unfortunately I fell victim to a horrible bout of the flu. Three weeks later and I still haven't fully recovered :( Needless to say I wasn't feeling my normal, creative self. So please forgive my absence.

Let me know if you like the new chapt. I love writing c/b dialogue :) Review please, please, please! :)

xoxo

* * *

"I believe some champagne would not go amiss." Lt. Baizen commented to Blair as they rounded the corner to a less populated gallery filled with more impressive treasures.

"Most assuredly," She verified with a light smile, her hand still resting on his sturdy arm, "That sounds delightful."

Carter disengaged then bent over her hand and kissed her fingers, "I will be but a moment, my lady."

Blair inclined her head as he took his leave to retrieve their beverages.

He really was very sociable and thoroughly interesting man. There _was_ something just a little off about him. Like his smile was just a touch too bright or his laugh slightly forced. Maybe it was a military thing though. Who could go from the battlefield to the ballroom without a lingering disquiet?

Reading people had always been one of Blair's strong suits. She could usually size someone up with in a minute's time. She could tell the genuine from the frauds, the sycophants from the sincere. But she'd been out of London for sometime and was currently weighing people, especially suitors, on a more demanding scale.

Suddenly restless, she wandered away to look at a bust situated on a stout, white column. Peculiarly, the candlelight did not fully reach the bay in which it was recessed. Blair walked closer to better study the piece. Even in the uncertain light, she could tell it was masterfully made; Grecian in origin and very ancient.

Out of the blue, she felt the air displace around her, warning her of another presence close by. The awareness made her spine tingle as a tentative uneasiness prickled the back of her neck.

A moment later a deep, unforgettable voice came from the dimness, "Enjoying your stroll?"

Goosebumps covered her arms in reaction. Blair squinted to better see him. She knew it was he, the duke, but the dark concealed any trace of an expression.

"Immensely, Your Grace," She answered, wishing he would either disappear or come nearer so she could see his face. "The lieutenant is an excellent conversationalist and a true gentleman." She was relieved that her tone was suitably haughty and not betraying her thoughts.

Charles gave a dismissive snort at her thinly veiled indication that he was of lesser character than Baizen.

"Believe me, my lady, conversation is not want he wants from you." Charles stated the fact while advancing toward her and away from the wall.

"And what, might I ask, is it that he wants?" She inquired with patent skepticism, his features slowly coming into focus. Her eyes drank him in, the bold slashes of his brows, the high cheekbones, the sensual line of his mouth. Forcing herself, she focused on the words coming from those lips.

"A few things I am sure. Firstly though, you look too desirable for your own good," He paused and let his eyes meander at will over her body, "That gown makes you look like a wild rose waiting to be plucked."

He took another step in her direction, holding her gaze with his own, "Like at any moment dew drops could fall from your petals."

His own body responded to his imagery, fantasizing about other parts of her anatomy that would be pink and dewy if given the proper inducement.

His inducement.

Raising his hand, Charles brushed a single fingertip along her cheek, following it down to her jaw, then up until he stroked her lower lip.

She reveled in his caress for an endless moment, letting the heat of the contact permeate her skin. He breath faltered and she expelled a breath that passed from between her lips to the finger that rested there. Gathering her fortitude, she jerked back and retreated. But she did not take notice of her surroundings, for she did not retreat into the light. Instead, she was soon engulfed in the privacy of thick, secret shadows.

Charles hid a grin at her withdrawal and waited until she had settled her feathers, so to speak. He followed after, stopping but a foot away.

Blair threw him a speaking glance, but held her ground.

"So, how do you differ from the lieutenant then? You have already informed me of your reasons in the park this morning. Perhaps he has tact instead of crude words." She charged, thrusting the words before her like a shield.

The duke was not intimidated nor chagrined by her verbal guard, "You misunderstand, love. I neither censure Baizen nor disagree with him on that count. I actually feel for the man. One only needs a single glace in your direction to awaken his baser yearnings." His eyes, even in the poor illumination, were sultry and smoldering like steaming hot chocolate.

Blair felt her breathing deepen, her bodice suddenly uncomfortably tight. Charles was in much the same condition, but it was his breeches not his shirt that had suddenly grown a size too snug.

"Did you receive my flowers?" He asked, throwing Blair off stride.

"Yes." She responded abruptly, blinking in confusion.

Charles half grinned then tilted his head, "Did you like them?"

She pulled out the response she had decided on earlier, "They are lovely and the gesture far too generous."

"They are a mere pittance of what you deserve. However, you did not answer my question, did you like them?" He persisted with a knowing glance.

"I suppose." She conceded, hoping she was covering her true opinion of his thoughtfulness. "But you must cease your attentions, they are all for naught."

He huffed a laugh, "We differ in that opinion, sweet."

Blair turned peevish, her patience as thin as a slice of prosciutto, "We differ on a great many opinions, Your Grace."

Charles chuckled, "After your expert set down to that country bumpkin, I daresay we are more alike than you know. I, too, do not easily suffer fools."

Blair did not know how to take his comment. Was it praising or admonishing? He had a tinge of mirth in his tone, or so it seemed. Was he laughing at her? She immediately took umbrage, the safest reaction by far.

"She was threatening my cousin's reputation, I could not stand idly by." She defended with a glower and a contemptuous sniff.

Charles held up his hands in a sign of concession, "As I said, we are quite similar in that regard. If Baizen had not swept you away, I would have done."

Blair searched his face for the truth. Damn but the man was an mystery! "You said Lt. Baizen wanted 'a few things' from me. Just for my edification, what are the others?"

"Besides you delectable body you mean?" Charles allowed himself a full blown smile due to her expression at his bluntness before he played his ace. "Well, there is the fact that marrying you would greatly increase his station."

She let her vexation show before she replied, "Because I am daughter to a earl? He is hardly a butcher's son. He could probably even do better, by peerage standards. He is rather fine looking in face and form." She allowed herself the little dig to his ego by speaking of Baizen's handsomeness.

"So I have been told." He replied dryly, "Nevertheless, few ladies have a vast fortune to back up their beauty and bloodlines."

"Then he is a fortune hunter?" She asked with arrant disbelief.

"Undoubtedly."

She stiffened at his indolent succinctness, "You are reaching, Your Grace."

"Hardly." Charles used his advantage, sowing the seeds of suspicion concerning his rival in her head.

She held tight to her defense, looking for the holes in his theory, "I well know that he is no pauper."

"But he is not so well heeled that he can marry without considering monetary interests." He countered, taking sly delight in her disintergrating arguments.

She raised an eyebrow, "I did not judge you to be a romantic. Who can marry without as least considering the factor of wealth these days?"

He did not reply immediately, choosing to let the silence thicken before he spoke. He looked directly into her eyes, half shaded in the ambiguous lighting.

"Me."

She stood stock still for a moment allowing the words, and their subsequent meaning, to sink in. Blair searched for the answers to thousands of questions fighting for prominence in her mind.

Much to her frustration, he gave nothing away. She thought he was probably a virtuoso at cards, his expression was so inscrutable.

Her mouth took on a mulish shape, "Then you should have no trouble locating the unfortunate girl."

Charles enjoyed her retort, letting his gaze soften in amusement, "Just so, locating was the easy part. The convincing appears to be the challenge. But never fear, I am well up to the task."

Charles looked over his shoulder, spying Baizen making his way back to Blair. He was more than willing to confront the lofty lieutenant, but he had accomplished his goal. Lady Blair would always be a bit wary of the true depth of Baizen's fondness. Oh, yes, if her current indecision was any measure, he had done well.

Charles stepped closer, deliberately crowding her, "Heed my warning, sweeting. Baizen will bring you nothing but misery."

She refused to move an inch, slanting her head at a defensive angle, "And what is it that you would bring me, Your Grace?"

Leaning in, he whispered in a sinful cadence, "Pleasure... More than you could bear."

Without warning, he stole a kiss. It was quick but devastatingly thorough. Before Blair could participate or protest, the contact was gone. She opened her eyes, only to see him melting further into the gloom.

"There you are, my dear." Lt. Baizen stated, two glasses of bubbling champagne in hand.

She nearly jumped out of her skin. Recovering quickly, Blair gave him a artificial, distracted smile as her eyes strayed compulsively into the darkness.


	12. Chapter 12

Author's note: Hello my darling (and sadly neglected readers)! I give my deepest apologies for the wait for this chapter. I am a terrible updater! Please forgive me, my life is in wild disarry. I work for a department store and believe me when I say the winter holiday season is not conducive to free flow of imagination. Tell me what you think, I live for your thoughts!

xoxo

_

* * *

_

_As is the case with any season, competition is paramount. The hostesses are in a frenzy to attract the crème de la crème. Their husbands are most certainly cringing at their lightened purses in consequence, for the decadence of the entertainments is readily obvious. The attendees are not unaffected in the pursuit of victory by any means. The modistes are in alt, as every lady is desperate to out do the opposition. The gentlemen are not getting off lightly either. All want to be seen with the Season's most popular beauties. The exotic Miss Penelope Shafai has many a man fancying himself a poet, rhapsodizing on her fine eyes…_

_But the sensational Lady Blair is swiftly becoming the success of the year. Her crowd of admirers grows steadily and boasts three charming earls, two well funded viscounts, a handsome collection of his Majesty's finest and, most notably, one wicked duke. All that is missing is a prince in a pear tree._

_This lady author has begun to speculate, dear readers, over the exact cause of such a flurry of attention. To be quite fair, the lady is not without her charms and being worth a staggering sum never impairs. However, competition is a heady thing. And wanting to capture a prize valued by many is far more desirable than one wanted by few. As always, to the victor go the spoils. Happy hunting, gentlemen. _

Society Pages 4 April 1817

The next few weeks flew by in a mad rush. Amusements varied: garden parties, picnics, routs, balls. The weather was unpredictable, as April in England often can be; blustering winds tempered with mild temperatures, icy fog hovering over cobbled streets until the slow burn off at midmorning. One never knew what the next day would bring, rain or shine?

There were a few things that remained the same however. The parties and activities twisted into a blur. One was never sure if they heard that piece of gossip at Lady Glossup's rout or the Hamilton ball, but it could have been just as easily at the Rotherstone's tea. The mass of expensively clad bodies steadily expanded as the Season hit its stride.

And much in line with everyone's expectations, but not to say her own, Blair seemed to turn into an overnight sensation. Gentlemen lined up to plead for a dance, to fetch her a lemonade or to take her driving in the park.

Inevitably, some men made more of an impression than others.

Lt. Baizen had become a regular companion, always available and solicitous. He had a good humored wit and a likeable personality. He made her feel like the lady she was and treated her with the utmost respect, nearly an equal.

And then, there was the duke. He was a phantom, appearing and dissolving with impeccable timing. He always anticipated where and when she would arrive. With his shocking sense of humor, he made her smile against her better judgment. He made her feel nothing like a lady- with him she turned into a full-blooded woman with opinions, intelligence and passion.

Whenever the two men interacted, they reverted to some woefully primitive condition that Blair could not help but find slightly entertaining. At times, they would all but bare their teeth to stake a claim. Each would covertly mark his territory, that is to say Blair herself, by usurping her attentions. By means of a cordiality that neither of them felt, they would continually tear strips off each other hidden behind expressions of impassivity. With another set of men, it could have been written off as good-natured ribbing. But, with these two, the obvious lack of love loss between them discarded that illusion.

Charles would poke fun at Carter's profession, sometimes the very fact that he had one. Carter, in turn, would bring the duke's wild exploits to the fore at every opportunity. Blair tried to ignore them, under the guise of being far above such behavior, but sometimes they were so outrageous, she couldn't bite back her smiles.

However, sometimes she distinctly felt like a mare between two pawing, snorting stallions. Since the analogy was not flattering to her in any regard, she would let her annoyance show through. She was not a prize to be won (no matter what it said in the society papers), she was a person. Whenever they strayed into danger of forgetting that, she would remind them rather peevishly, not to mention bluntly.

On one such occasion, she had just returned to her small circle of admirers after a dance with Lord Grandville. Carter nestled up to her left side while Charles took her right, effectively blocking off the others. They both regarded her warmly, but refused to acknowledge each other. She fought against rolling her eyes skyward and requesting divine intervention.

"Would you honor me with the next dance, my lady?" Carter offered his hand and a courtly bow.

"Lieutenant, I believe you know that his grace has requested the next waltz this evening." She recapped softly.

"I must have forgotten, my lady, your presence tends to overshadow everyone else in attendance."

Charles made a perceptible sound of derision at Carter's overblown flattery.

"Did you say something, your grace?" Blair questioned, her manufactured serenity cracking along the edges.

"I was just clearing my throat, love. There seems to be some sycophantic drivel in the air making it hard to respire." The duke nettled mercilessly, using a wave of his hand to mimic ventilating the room.

Carter stiffened, but before he could form his rebuttal, Blair cut in.

"Excuse me gentlemen, I believe I will adjourn to less waspish company." She turned to dismiss them, but they both blocked her way.

"Except my regrets, my lady. I did not wish to upset you so." Carter declared repentantly.

"Indeed, I think your aura is the only thing that can transform me from a wasp to something much sweeter." The duke put in, along with a charming flash of straight white teeth.

"If you cannot be civil to one another, I will happily find other companions." She warned, harkening a face her mother used to employ when she misbehaved.

Both bowed to her in response then turned to one another and greeted the other with a curt inclination of the head.

"Bass."

"Baizen."

"Men." Blair lamented, "Why do you refer to each other in such a manner? I do not just mean you, but men in general. I have seen the best of friends call each other by their last names or titles. As if you have no Christian names."

The pair looked at her in speculation then turned to eye each other. As if by tact agreement, Charles admitted the truth.

"Honestly, I have no idea. We simply do it." Charles heard the opening bars of the waltz, praising whatever deity saw fit to deliver him from the conversation. "My dance, sweet."

Carter always seemed to give way with good grace, even if she could sense a tautness about him. He look as if he were a nice enough fellow, but there was a niggle in her mind that never fully resolved itself. Blair wrote it off to the duke's remarks about Carter's true motives behind his attentions. He had planted a giant seed of doubt, one she could never reconcile enough to just brush off. Duke Bass had an uncanny aptitude for saying outright what she secretly held in discomfort.

Something even more alluring about the duke was at every opportunity, which with the duke was with astonishing frequency, he would sweep her into his arms and kiss away her sanity. He was suspiciously well acquainted with darkened parlors, alcoves and additional obscure spots conducive to seduction. She put up all the pretenses of maidenly virtue, but when she was caught in his hold reason took an extended holiday and desire sunk in its claws. She could no more break their kisses than she could attempt to fly.

But even better than the clandestine moments of heated passion, were the, by now ritual, sparring matches they engaged in every morning. Each daybreak found the duke atop his stallion, whose name she had learned was Iago, at the entrance of the park.

After the Covington Soiree, she was definitely in no mood to see him. Nonetheless, there he sat, boldly masculine, astride his mount patiently awaiting her arrival. His muscled thighs poured into tight, buff buckskins that disappeared into lovingly polished Hessians. A black greatcoat was filled out by his admirable shoulders. An expertly and elaborately tied cravat peaking out of his coat completed the picture of manly, everyday elegance. Blair called upon all her emotional resources to not let her appreciation show.

Inside she was drooling.

She remembered how that body moved through a waltz, all power and confidence and grace. It was the work of a moment to recall how many women had 'appreciated' the figure he cut. He was a cad. He was a scoundrel. He was sin personified.

Alas, he was not for her.

"Good day, my lady." He offered, reading her scantily concealed disgruntlement and giving a smirk in turn.

Dispensing with any mock politeness, Blair spoke decisively, "Are you hard of hearing, Your Grace?"

Charles' smirk turned into a grin, "My hearing is quite sound, sweeting."

"Then why, I ask, do you insist on forcing your unwanted presence on me?" With the haughtier of a queen, she fixed him with a stony glare.

He gave an elegant shrug, "It is my stubborn nature, not my hearing, that is to blame, I fear. 'Man is a goal seeking animal. His life only has meaning if he is reaching out and striving for his goals.'"

"Aristotle?" Blair questioned with due disbelief, "You surprise me, Your Grace."

The wind kicked up for a moment, loosening a recalcitrant lock of hair from her coiffure. She untangled it from the collar of her riding blouse with impatient fingers.

Her voice was no less impatient than her gesture when she continued, "Notwithstanding, I do hope your nature, stubborn or otherwise, asserts itself in another direction."

He chuckled lightly at her riposte, as his eyes lingered on the delicate lace collar caressing her throat, "Doubtful, but I will allow you to hope."

"'Hope springs eternal in the human breast; Man never is, but always to be blest.'" She countered, trying to hide her sudden liking of their game.

"My turn to be impressed it appears. Pope, if I am not misguided, my lady? 'I know how men in exile feed on dreams of hope.'" He nodded provokingly.

Blair surveyed him evenly, letting him think he had the upper hand. Then, after a hesitation, she let her lips curve condescendingly, "I have no great liking for the Greeks, though Aeschylus did have his moments."

Another wind whistled through the budding trees, this time ruffling the duke's raven locks. Blair watched as the air upset then smoothed his hair, leaving it with an attractive tousled look.

She double blinked, bringing her mind back into focus, as Charles' raised a brow and dipped his head in admiration. She cleared her throat and added, "I do have a liking for the prospect he raised however. Dreams, such as mine, sometimes do come true."

"But then we rarely get a choice in which dreams come to fruition. For if I possessed such an ability, we would be in a very different setting at such an early hour."

"La, save your roguish descriptions, Your Grace." She brushed off with contrived boredom, when in truth their exchange had stirred her blood thoroughly. "I, for one, know of no morning pastime more fulfilling than a good, hard ride."

She thought she heard him choke before he commented, "Oh, on that, darling we are in full agreement."

She blushed at his tone, one overflowing with suppressed laughter and dark desire, even if she did not truly understand the source.

With obvious effort he wiped his face free of the expression realizing her incomprehension.

"Shall we race, love? If you find yourself the champion, I would be delighted to grant you a boon."

She notched her chin higher, "You mean _when_ I come out the champion?"

He let out a full gust of laughter, a sound that made her alarmingly smitten, his smile lingering as he accused, "Full of arrogance this morn I see."

"Confidence, your grace." She corrected proudly, "I simply know how to play to my strengths."

Charles nodded, "Two peas in a pod we are then. For I cannot help but do the same."

"Pretty words, sir, I hope for your sake you can back up your conceit with aptitude." She turned Hepburn to the track with a nearly imperceptible flick of the wrist.

"Never fear, I am well skilled at riding, no matter the mount or the venue." His rascal half smile was in full effect as he followed suit and righted Iago along side her mare.

Blair was slightly confused again by the undertones, suddenly wishing she could decipher his meaning. She didn't like being at a disadvantage in any field. Genteel ladies were not supposed to understand certain things, it was not proper. Not for the first time, Blair yearned to be completely improper.

Well not _completely _improper, just enough to grasp the hidden meanings of rakish conversations. And maybe improper enough to have experienced some of the activities he had hinted at in the past as well. If that made her a shameless jezebel, she mused with an internal shrug, so be it.

As she caught sight of his twinkling eyes, exasperation caught her, "Your Grace?" she paused.

"Hmm?" He muttered, lost in his own thoughts.

"Go!" She shouted, urging Hepburn into a jolting gallop.

"Minx!" Charles called out as he gave the stallion his head.

Blair's light feminine laugher trailed behind her.

Now, more than three weeks later, she whirled in the duke's capable arms in the Parkerton's ballroom. It was the supper waltz, the dance that proceeded the sumptuous midnight buffet. The duke's friend Marquess Archibald had waxed lyrical about the delicacies to be found at the table. Charles had wryly informed her that Nate could give a running commentary on any hostess's offerings from tea cakes to turbot. She liked the pair of them together. They were very much themselves with each other, a boyishness peaked through that otherwise lie dormant. It made her ache to further experience that side of him. The three of them had had a lovely conversation at the refreshment table where the duke had claimed the supper dance straight off.

Blair had long ago quit attempting to dissuade his advances. Firstly, it never turned in her favor, he had the devil's own luck and timing. Secondly, he had no qualms about embarrassing them both in public, which would do no damage to him, naturally, but could be disaster for her. And thirdly, and most lamentably, she no longer wanted to fend him off. She wanted to be precisely where she was, firmly within his embrace. There was no greater felicity than synchronizing her steps with his, following where he led, allowing her body to brush his as he pulled her closer through the turns. She regularly berated herself for her weakness. But, it never felt like weakness while she was with him. It felt like soothing salve to a burn or the elusive answer to a vexing riddle.

It felt… right.

Yet, alone in her bedroom as Dorota divested her of her night finery, she would start with the self lectures.

_He is a no good rogue. _

_He is not the man you need. _

_He will never give you what you want._

Then he would materialize at her side the next night, whisper something rakish or endearing in her ear and she'd be lost. That night the process would undoubtedly start all over again, like some mocking litany.

In the deepest part of her heart she knew why she allowed it. She thought, or more accurately feared, his interest was basically temporary. No one ensnared the dashing duke and held him captive forever. He was a wanderer, fickle and worldly. Even if they married, he would never be hers, not really. He was not a man a woman managed, control was his drug of choice. Regrettably, it was hers as well. So, she let herself fantasize and hold on to the moments that she, Blair Cornelia Waldorf, held the Duke of Bass' notice. When she was older and settled with the right kind of gentleman, the steady kind that would adore her without limits, she would look back and remember when a rakish duke danced lavish attention on her.

She did not underestimate herself, she knew she was deserving of courting, wooing and love. It was the duke she judged to be lacking in this capacity. Moving on to her true direction would come, but for the moment she would revel in seductive glances and impertinent touches he bestowed.

"I don't know how you manage it." Charles abruptly stated, as they performed a perfect revolution to the music.

"Quite easily, I simply put one foot in front of the other and follow the melody." She smiled knowingly during her cheeky response.

"Very amusing, minx." He grinned back, "But you know that waltzing was not what I meant."

"Then you must be much more specific in your utterances, Your Grace. I've been informed that vagueness is a sign of old age." She stated with an expression of false concern.

Blair could never help calling awareness to the near decade that lie between their ages.

"Always you bait me." He shook his head in mock reproof. "It is said that a man my age is in his prime." His eyes turned intent and his fingers flexed on her back as if he was battling to not pull her closer, "I think a demonstration is in order… To clear up any _vagueness_ on my account."

He looked as though he would be all too happy to throw her over his shoulder and carry her away to prove his virility. Blair bit her lip and tamped down on a welling surge of excitement at the notion.

"Straying off the topic, Your Grace? You are making a poor case for your mental clarity."

The corners of his mouth lifted, a shadow of a rogue's smile, "Some topics prove more distracting than others."

_Very distracting. _Blair concurred inwardly.

"None of that!" She admonished, to herself or him she wasn't certain, "Now back to your original thought… If you can brush off the cobwebs and recall it."

He gave a beleaguered sigh, "If you insist. I was wondering how you manage to look increasingly tempting every time I see you." He gave her as complete a head to toe perusal as their positions would allow, his voice a husky murmur "Every color and shade make you more desirable. Every flounce and feather, more delectable."

He met her eyes, deep brown locking with light, "That shade of yellow for instance would prove tragedy on the majority of ladies present. And yet… on you… it makes me wonder if you taste as tart as lemons or if your skin is as warm as sunshine. Just viewing you makes me hungry."

The music chose than moment to come to a ending, he reluctantly released her waist, dropping into a bow. She curtsied in return.

Blair snapped open her fan, employing it on her suddenly heated cheeks, gratified to have the excuse of the dance for her rapid temperature flux.

"Perfect timing. Dinner, it appears, is served. It will give you ample opportunity to assuage your hunger."

"Wrong appetite." He growled into her ear and she shuddered.

She had his full attention now, but how long would it last?

A more disconcerting thought took center stage in her head, would her heart be intact at the end?


End file.
